


getting used to nothing

by manthepan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brief Graphic Violence, Depression, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Illness, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Shiro POV, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, can I pay you in emotional baggage, keith becomes his sugar baby, only in the prologue, references to violence, shiro is a wounded vet, tags from this one on will be added as chapters are posted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2020-10-25 14:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20726045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manthepan/pseuds/manthepan
Summary: Shiro didn't think when he left for war that he'd come back to nothing.  Keith is everything he could ever want and the only way to get him is to sign a contract and pay for his time.  There's no guidebook on how to be a sugar daddy when you barely have the energy to leave your house.  There's a lot to get used to.





	1. PROLOGUE: going under

The plane ride home was hell. All Shiro has is the uniform on his back and a camo duffle. He hates how everyone who looks at him just _ knows _ . Every stranger in every crowded terminal, every passenger who passes his seat as they walk the cramped aisle of the plane. They all know exactly who he is, what he’s doing and where he’s going. He _ hates _ it. All Shiro can do about it is look at his lap and think about how he pleaded his arrangements be made that he wouldn’t have to sit next to anyone.

* * *

When Corporal Takashi Shirogane received his promotion to Sergeant, he didn’t stop smiling for weeks. There are few things in someone’s life that they can say they accomplished completely on their own. No recommendations, no good words put in. Shiro worked and he worked hard for a very long time. He left a life he felt comfortable with to strive for a life he’d be proud of.

His cadets adored him. Shiro had the presence of an armed nuclear warhead with the patience of someone better suited for sainthood than a military officer. That’s what makes what happened, what became of him, so much worse.

You’ve heard his story before. Routine perimeter check on a new compound. Land mine the dogs didn’t pick up got stepped on. Triggered a chain reaction.

Shiro’s the only one who got to go home.

At 26 he wasn’t the youngest person in his unit. There were three people not old enough to rent a car. One of them wasn’t old enough to drink. Old enough to have the entire right side of his body blown to red mist and gore, though.

Shiro won’t remember what happened for a few days. Then it’ll all come back to him; the tinnitus ringing in his head, the inferno of his jeep in front of him, the bodies, the parts of bodies, the poor fucking souls who didn’t die right away that shivered and sobbed until they bled to death in the dirt.

Shiro didn’t even notice what had happened to him, there was no time to. When he tried to reach for his radio and his right arm wasn’t responding, all he did was get it with his left. Help came. Two more soldiers died in the hospital.

After he woke up, he had no idea where he was. He kept saying that he blinked and then he was here. What happened?

“Takashi,” the doctor said as he pulled up a rolling stool to Shiro’s bedside. Shiro will replay this moment in his mind for the rest of his life. The way this doctor looked at him and the tone he used… the pity was palpable. It would take a long time for Shiro to stop hating that doctor for seeing him as something so pathetic because, really, that’s what Shiro was.

“There was…” He wanted to say accident but, really, no one knows exactly why this happened. “Something happened. There was a bomb that went off and you guys were right on top of it. Everyone…” The doctor took his thin-framed glasses off and cleared his throat. “There was nothing we could do for the rest of them. But you’re going to make a great recovery and you’re going to be sent home.”

So many people expected Shiro to blame himself.

“I blame the dog that didn’t find the fucking mine,” is what he said. It’s the first thing out of his mouth in weeks. It was a very bad day.

Like the doctor promised, Shiro got to go home. He had no family in America and Shiro refused to be a burden to his grandparents in Japan who don’t have much time left as it is. When travel plans were made, there was only one person Shiro could call.

\---

“The _ Army _?! Takashi, you’re here for--”

Shiro’s smile dropped like it had been thrown down. “I thought you would be happy for me. This is something I want to do.”

“You told me you wanted to go to college together.” The tone Adam chooses for this sentence gets Shiro’s blood hot.

Shiro’s brows crease. “I did--I do. But, I think this is something I could really succeed in.”

“You have _ amazing _ grades here! You’ll have your pick of laboratories, workshops! You could go to space!”

“No, I can’t,” Shiro’s voice drops. “You know I can’t.” The deteriorating muscles and nerves in his arm won’t be cleared for long-term space travel. And there’s no other kind.

“But you’ll be cleared for military service, is that it? Is that what the recruiter said?”

“Well, yes…”

Adam scoffs. Shiro feels his chest start to break open. There was a time when he and Adam couldn’t imagine having a bad thing to even think about each other. And now Adam is all but physically looking down on Shiro, doubling over in laughter for his choice of career. He feels so stupid.

“Fine. Go. Do it. Since it seems like you’ve made the decision without even considering what I think. _ I’m _ graduating in a year and moving to California like we planned.”

The rest of the night was one long argument. Adam wanted Shiro to change his mind, to continue with schooling, continue accumulating student debt that the military would forgive. It didn’t make sense for Shiro to keep spending money he didn't have to pursue a career he was, yes, passionate about only for all the doors to be shut in his face because the zero gravity conditions of space travel will quickly render his right arm completely useless.

This seemed like the smart decision.

In the end, Shiro wound up saying good-bye to a lot of people when he meant to leave with a ‘see you when I get back.’

\---

“Adam.”

The phone crackles from the silence.

“Takashi?”

“I need a favor. Just this one favor.”

“What’s wrong? Why do you sound--”

“I’ll explain everything later, I promise. I need to come home.”

Adam met Shiro at an empty baggage claim carousel. Shiro told Adam everything that mattered in this situation. Which wasn’t all that much. Only enough that there wouldn’t be any surprises when they see each other for the first time in four years. Still, Shiro looked at his feet the second he and Adam made eye contact. 

It was a quiet drive to Adam’s apartment that was empty much to Shiro’s surprise. In retrospect, he supposes he should have asked if it would have been appropriate for him, an ex boyfriend, to stay at Adam’s place without notice. Though, if it weren’t, Shiro trusted Adam to say as much.

As it turns out, Adam is single and married to his work. Shiro is alone for most of the day and when Adam finally comes home, it takes a few days for him not to be startled by Shiro’s presence.

Talking was never hard for them. When they were together, they’d forego sleep to stay up just to chat, to laugh. Now, Shiro can’t find anything to say. He’s folding some laundry on the dining room table when;

“Are you still a hopeless chef?”

Shiro doesn't reply until he’s got one of his shirts sort-of folded and put in a forming stack. “When I was deployed, we couldn’t really cook and when we were on the base, there was mess hall.”

There’s a pause then Adam chuckles, attracting Shiro’s attention from his chore, “So, yes.”

“I...Yes. I can’t cook. _ Why _?” Shiro can barely recognize his own voice now. Everything he says has such a strong twist of defensiveness and spite that he’s never heard. He reacts to everything like it’s an attack and he can’t stop it. He isn’t angry. Why does he sound so bitter? By the look he must have on his face, Adam keeps smiling and seems to understand somehow. Like he can read Shiro’s mind. That’s a troubling thought.

“Want to help make dinner?”

Shiro sits more upright his chair to peer at the bubbling pot of spaghetti. “Looks like you have it under control.”

“Come stir the pasta before I give you an order, _ private _.”

Shiro doesn’t appreciate the joke but still walks to Adam’s side and takes the spoon he’s handed. It’s very easy to tell that Adam is trying to be Shiro’s makeshift physical therapist. Shiro’s lost his dominant arm. He has to relearn how to do everything, not only with his non-dominant hand but with _ just _ his non-dominant hand. The therapy he got on base was less than delicate Not that Shiro needed to be coddled but no one seemed to understand that sometimes the phantom pains were just too maddening that all Shiro needed was a low-grade sedative and some peace.

He decides that this is nice, this little domestic lesson. And all the ones that follow. It’s small but it’s something to be proud of when Shiro serves himself and Adam dinner.

Shiro was turned into a creature of habit; wake up at 5, make his bed, take a shower that lasts maybe three minutes, start his duties, go to bed at 9, repeat. Well, Shiro doesn’t have duties anymore. He’s a civilian. His duties include laundry as needed, dishes as needed. That’s pretty much it. Save for his new weekly P.T. and general doctor’s appointments that require a 2 hour walk to the closest base, Shiro finds himself just sitting and waiting for Adam to come home.

[ **From: Takashi**

**Hey, I’m gonna walk around. Anywhere good to eat around here?** ]

Shiro’s sliding his shoes on when Adam replies.

[ **From: Adam**

**There’s a really good deli about a quarter mile away called Rosalita’s. Anything from there is good.** ]

Shiro starts typing a quick ‘thank you’ when Adam sends another text.

[ **Stay safe. Pay attention to cars.** ]

\---

Shiro blames what he’s been through on how the second time he falls in love with Adam feels very sepia. It happens slowly but easily, they start sharing a bed after Shiro falls asleep watching something on Adam’s phone without a comment from either of them. Adam kissed Shiro before leaving for work one day and that was that. Easy.

Sex isn’t what he remembers though but honestly, it’s just nice to be touched by someone without being in a doctor’s office.

Shiro’s first night terror got Adam a noise complaint. The funny thing about night terrors is that as soon as Shiro wakes up from them, he can’t remember what they were about or even that he’s had one and all he’s left with is panic and dread. There’s not much you can do to comfort someone who can’t verbalize what’s upsetting them. The terrors were irregular enough that all Shiro figured he needed were some sleeping pills and being more careful of the kind of action movies he watched.

When Shiro woke up screaming three nights in a row, Adam suggested therapy. Shiro just ended up sleeping in the living room again. When a motorcycle backfiring triggers Shiro’s first panic attack, Adam gives him a list of local psychiatry clinics. When all it takes for Shiro to have a complete meltdown on the sidewalk as they walk home from dinner is being startled by a woman screaming and running playfully after what seems to be her boyfriend, Adam gives him an ultimatum.

Somehow he gets Shiro home and stable enough to listen to him.

“This is not _ normal _ , Takashi. You need to see a therapist, you need medication, you need _ something _ because this is getting worse by the _ day _! You either get help or you get somewhere else to live. I am not equipped to handle someone I can’t even take out into public. If you were this bad off, you should have told me!”

It takes years but Shiro will understand that Adam was not being unreasonable. He wasn’t being selfish. He didn’t say those things to hurt Shiro. Of course, though, that’s years from now. So right now, Shiro only gets angry.

No one could help him. No professional, anyway. He just needs to stay with Adam and things will be okay. How do you make someone feel better when they’ve seen what Shiro’s seen? Felt what he’s felt? There’s no amount of medication that will take away the searing pain coming from a limb that isn’t there anymore. No amount of “it isn’t your fault” or “you have to move on” will actually do anything. This is just how things are, how they will be.

When Shiro says as much, Adam only looks at him for a time and Shiro feels his mouth dry up. He’s said the wrong thing. Again. This is the end. Again.

Breaking up is bad enough. Breaking up a second time is so much worse. The universe gave two hearts a second chance to be what they couldn’t before. The amount of people who actually get a do-over is astronomically smaller than the amount of people who deserve them.

Shiro’s disability checks and retirement stipend from the government is honestly more money than he knows what to do with. Moving out isn’t hard as far as finances are concerned. Shiro leaves California and heads to Arizona. Socal heat without Socal crowds. Phoenix has its own collection of military bases for Shiro to settle himself around.

Fine. He doesn’t need anyone. He’s not meant for it, clearly. Shiro couldn’t make his only serious relationship work when he had all his limbs and none of the panic attacks. What made him think things would magically work out this time, with him like this?

Shiro’s first Christmas alone is the second worst day of his life. The first being ...yeah. His mantra of not needing anyone only gets him so far. His physician gave him a new sleeping medication that made his night terrors turn to sleep paralysis but, hey, at least he wasn’t screaming. 

He holds a palm-full of those pills in his hand and a bottle of Jack trapped between his knees. 

It would be so easy. How fucking insane is that? Half a dozen bombs go off all around him and somehow, Shiro makes it out. But you give him just the right amount of little tablets and three huge swallows of whiskey there he goes. Why couldn’t it have been this easy the first time?

The only thing that saves Shiro’s life is his gag reflex. And his abhorrent hate for Jack Daniels. He can’t swallow that many pills at once _ and _ chug 94 proof booze.

This is not where Shiro thought he would be. This is not how his cadets would want to see him go out. He survived. He made it. That has to mean something. Even if that means being an average, suburban-occupying, dark blue sedan-driving Joe.

Call it a Christmas miracle, call it divine intervention, call it a reality check. Shiro opens Google and types in ‘therapy for veterans’.

Huh. Allura McClain - Psychiatrist - PTSD and Military Specialized.

Wonder if she takes calls on holidays...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Shiro...  
What a way to start this off! I promise this won't bet he whole mood for the series. It gets much happier and fluffier!
> 
> (Also, I am very very new to ao3 so if something seems weird or not formatted correctly, it's because I'm learning as I go.)
> 
> This is going to update every Saturday~
> 
> Find me on twitter @jaysuoh
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 1: somebody to know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes when someone you trust tells you to do something you really don’t want to do, you just have to do it. Or you put it off for months, become a touch-starved hermit and finally cave, potentially making the worst decision of your life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****small disclaimer****  
Almost all of Shiro's symptoms are self-referential. I am not trying to speak for anyone else's experience with mental illness. Honestly, some of this was cathartic to write. That being said, please enjoy the chapter!

Allura McClain, as it turns out, does not take holiday calls…

...happily.

Shiro got a call the very next morning because, to hear Mrs. McLain tell it, he made a convincing argument and needed to be seen promptly.

Their first session, Shiro expects to do most of the talking and is, therefore, dreading the approaching hour block of time. What actually happens is almost like a lecture. A scolding. Mrs. McClain, who insists on being called Allura, is clearly very experienced and skilled despite her apparent age of maybe 24. It takes a visual once-over and a brief introduction from Shiro for her to, in the most professional way one can, go off.

She doesn’t reprimand him for not wanting help. It’s common for those who served in the military, where strength is the only thing that got you anywhere, to feel ashamed when they can’t tackle their problems alone. Asking for help is admitting defeat. She understands. But what Shiro needs is help. Help that she is very equipped to give.

Over the following months after his consultation, Shiro is diagnosed with depression, general anxiety disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder. That’s the big one, that’s what makes Shiro feel like a statistic. Of course a war-battered soldier comes home with PTSD.

“That’s because you witnessed something horrific. People you cared about died,” Allura offers as she flips the page in her notebook and continues to write. This is their eleventh appointment.

Her accent might be Shiro’s favorite part about her. It has a knack for calming him down. That or her strikingly silver hair that he struggles to believe is natural.

“It’s bad, though. Is it normal for it to be this bad?”

Allura leans forward, her pink blouse shifting like cloth underwater. Shiro instinctively reclines away. Having people close is a new issue of his. Someone being in his bubble makes him hyper aware, makes him realize he looks like a work in progress version of Frankenstein's monster. It’s one of those irrational things that Shiro can’t explain beyond ‘I just hate it.’

“You’re asking if something abnormal can be more normal based on severity. It’s all bad, Shiro. I need you to stop thinking about other people.”

He’d like her to call him by his given name because it would feel safer. It puts a barrier between them. Adam called him Takashi, so did the doctors. Being called Takashi by Allura would keep her from mattering too much to him. In the military, he was Shirogane. Only his friends call him Shiro. But what’s the point in putting a wall between you and your therapist? Also, she’s the closest thing he has to a friend anymore. Hm. Shouldn’t think about that too much.

He only looks at Allura and she sits back against her large pink chair. Pink _ has _to be her favorite color.

“Onto the next thing,” she says as she glances at the notes in her lap. “I’d like to introduce you to the idea of a service animal.”

Immediately, Shiro’s haunches go up. “I don’t need help taking care of myself.”

“No,” Allura replies slowly, firmly. “I know you’re perfectly capable and self-reliant as far as physically going about your day. I’m referring to an animal, a dog usually, that will alert you and other people when you are either in or about to go into crisis. Your last episode--”

“I got home eventually.” Shiro has a new habit of interrupting people. Like he’s afraid of what they’ll say if he lets them finish. Or that they’ll try to lie. He isn’t sure when this habit started but it used to go unaddressed. Now whenever he cuts Allura off, she lands a look on him that makes him feel 12. It’s a good thing. Shiro knows he didn’t used to be rude and would always let people finish their thoughts. He used to be so patient. 

Silently, Shiro leans his elbows on his knees, giving Allura the floor. 

“Yes, eventually. You said you broke out of the panic when it was almost dark. You aren’t aware of your surroundings when you have your attacks. What if you freeze in the middle of the street?”

‘Then I get hit by a car’ is right behind Shiro’s teeth. He accepts what Allura is saying with a small rotation of his jaw.

“Think about it with me. You said you’re lonely, right? You’re bored staying home all day? An animal would give you something that relies on you to get up in the morning. If you get a dog, you’ll have to walk it. You said you miss exercising. And it will be happy with you. You will have an unconditionally affectionate and loyal friend.”

That shouldn’t feel as scary as it does. Shiro swallows.

“I’ll think about it.”

\---

Rocket is a 10 month old chocolate lab puppy with a bright red collar and the silliest way of getting settled into his doggie bed. He’s trained perfectly for Shiro, for what Shiro needs. He walks on Shiro’s right side, picks up things Shiro drops, walks circles around Shiro when someone steps too close.

The first time Shiro panicked in public, Rocket yanked him over to the building-side of the city sidewalk and stayed still until Shiro fell to sit. Then Rocket nuzzled his way into Shiro’s lap and broke whatever spiraling train of thought Shiro caught himself in and then they were on their cautious way. Opposed to the hours it would have taken were Shiro by himself, they were home in 30 minutes. 

“You should listen to me,” Allura nearly sings as she crosses her legs victoriously--how can she even _ do _ that?-- “I know what I’m talking about.” It’s times like this where her pink armchair feels more like a throne.

Shiro smiles as he gives Rocket attention who lays at his feet. “Yeah, yeah. It’s your job to be right.”

“It’s my job to help.”

“Hm.”

“Have I?”

“...Yeah.”

One year later…

Shiro’s mouth falls open. Rocket is alerted to Shiro’s growing distress and sits up to nuzzle his owner’s knee.

“No,” he finally manages, his throat dry and voice crackly. 

“Let me finish--” Allura proceeds, lifting her hands in defense.

“No! No, Allura!”

“You said it yourself, you cannot be in a serious relationship. While unorthodox, I think you would greatly benefit from--”

“I’m not _ paying someone _ to spend time with me!”

“Have you managed to get someone to do it otherwise?”

Shiro shoves his tuft of brown hair back as his eyes dart to the floor, the wall, anywhere. “I haven’t gotten there yet. I can do it.”

“I know you can, too. In time. But it’s been over two years since you and Adam broke up and you haven’t even had coffee with anyone.”

Shiro opens his mouth.

“I do not count,” Allura interjects. “And you’re paying me for my time.”

Shiro’s mouth closes.

“If it helps, think of it as a different kind of therapy.”

“No one is going to agree to that. I’m not getting a sugar baby. End of discussion.”

“Don’t use that label if that’s what’s got you stuck, then. How about ‘professional companion’?”

Shiro tries to give her his best blank, ‘seriously?’ look. Maybe he’s just glaring. Either way, Allura shrugs.

“I was right about Rocket, I was right about the prosthesis trial,” she counts on her long fingers, “I think you’ll be surprised by this, too. I won’t make any decisions for you, though. You have control over your life, I’m just giving you suggestions.”

The prosthesis trial Allura’s referring to was another life-changing addition to Shiro’s life per her suggestion. He was fitted with a prototype that wouldn’t be ready for customization to Shiro’s body for quite some time but he was able to feel things through it. The sensations were muted, like he was touching and grabbing through a pair of very thick gloves. But he could still _ feel _. He could register hot and cold. Rough and smooth. The first week of trials kept Shiro’s spirits up for a month.

What brought him down was the inability to make the prosthesis flesh-colored. Any extra coating on the metal would inhibit the sensitive and precisely-wired inner sensors that allow it to operate correctly. Shiro knows he’ll never look normal again but having a silver, shiny robot arm that’s something out of a Terminator movie makes the fact that he’s missing an arm just as noticeable as going without it.

Allura was smart in ending their session with this sugarbaby topic because Shiro leaves in a huff.

It isn’t like he’s stayed alone on purpose. Allura of all people knows as much. There had been a very soft-spoken university student at the library Shiro came to frequent. But the schedule of someone trying for their masters and working full-time is essentially iron clad shut. That and their interactions were brief enough that Shiro talked himself out of the possibility that they were actually compatible. Then there was another veteran just a bit older than Shiro who started his rehab in the same facility as Shiro’s P.T. They seemed to hit it off until the other guy started talking about his fiance. Who was a woman.

Attempts were made, is the point. On good days. When Shiro was able to leave the house. Then overcome his crippling anxiety and abysmal self esteem. All those factors happening on the same day at the same time seems to be the reason why he’s had only two interactions, neither of which can really be considered positive, with potential romantic partners. 

Okay, maybe hiring someone doesn’t seem as bad as Shiro originally thought. Thinking purely objectively. 

He’s starting to hate how consistently right Allura is.

Shiro comes home and takes Rocket’s special bright yellow harness off before hanging it on a wall hook by the door. Same with his keys. He toes his slide-on vans off and walks to the kitchen to “make” dinner. It’s “make” because Shiro still doesn’t know how to cook very well and microwave dinners are how he gets by.

Rocket’s nightly routine is simple but specific: Scoop of kibble and a can of wet food, his doggie bed is placed in the center of the living room couch and Animal Planet is put on the T.V— because Shiro swears to all powers that be that Rocket legitimately enjoys watching elephants migrate— and Shiro eats beside him before going to his room.

Rocket knows that as soon as the light in the kitchen and hallway goes out, Shiro’s going to bed and it’s time to sleep on his owner. Another learned trick; it’s harder for Shiro to thrash during a night terror when there’s a 68 pound dog sleeping on his chest. Plus the pressure is like his own heated, weighted blanket. It’s done wonders for his sleep patterns.

After a quick shower, Shiro changes into his pajamas and gets into bed and opens Google. What would he even search for in order to hire a sugarba--professional companion? Shiro knows that he doesn’t want sex. Not right now, anyway. In the future, maybe? In general, of course! He’s a physically healthy man in his late twenties. Even when he was living with Adam the second time, they had sex three or four times a week. Depression had done a number on his sex drive after he moved out but that’s more manageable now and…

It would be nice. It would be nice to have someone touch him get to know him for the first time. He’s spent so much time around people who know his history. Obviously, he’d want to know more about them than Shiro would talk about himself but still. The thought of telling someone about how he was raised in Japan and that he’s bilingual just to watch their eyebrows shoot up makes him smile. 

And because he’d be paying them, they wouldn’t be too busy to get coffee and they definitely wouldn’t already be taken. They would be there for Shiro, just Shiro, for as long as he’d want them.

He figures he’d be a really laid back, uh… employer…? Is that what someone who has a sugar baby is called? Time to ask Google. Sugar daddy. No. Nope. No. Shiro would rather bury himself in cement than have anyone refer to him as a _ sugar daddy _. God, that just oozes ‘creepy old man’... Anyway, laid back employer. He wouldn’t ask for anything other than simple company. Maybe a trip or two to the doctor’s office. Some help making an actual meal, perhaps. Wait. Isn’t that just a personal assistant?

Shiro’s halfway through typing ‘personal assistant for hire’ into Craigslist when he hears Allura’s voice lecturing, ‘If I wanted you to get a personal assistant, I would have said personal assistant. But I said sugar baby.’

As it turns out, looking up ‘male sugar baby for hire’ leads to way too little actual helpful resources and way too many porn sites. Shiro clicks his phone screen off and sighs. This is so stupid. How can he actually be considering this? What would he even look for? Anyone is probably fine. After a few minutes, Shiro works up the courage to start his search again. It takes some sifting and looking at his phone through squinted eyes before he comes to a page that is relatively porn ad-free.

Wow. There’s search credentials. Okay, ‘Male’. That’s easy. Hmm. ‘Age: 21-30’. Okay. ‘Price range: Max $2k/month’. Uh. ‘Gay’. Oh, man. This is getting to be a little too much. ‘Sex not required’. Oh, jeez. They only get more and more specific and Shiro absolutely refuses to select his preferred body part he’d like to be sent pictures of. That’s broad enough. He taps ‘Search’.

One thing Shiro did not expect is for there to be so many. There’s pages and pages. Objectively, Shiro has his pick of them all. Some of them are extremely good-looking. Any one could say yes to spending time with Shiro.

Whoa. This feels a little _ too _ powerful. And overwhelming. Shiro bookmarks the page and turns his screen off. Enough of that. He’ll revisit it some other time. Are you happy, Allura? Somewhere he hears her reply of; ‘You didn’t message any of them, so no.’

How could he? What would he even say? How does someone like Shiro introduce himself without seeming like the world’s biggest, most desperate sob story? Deep breath. This is their job, anyone Shiro contacts must be used to it and have heard it all to some degree. Maybe if all they’re used to is older men who want pictures of their feet, someone to get frozen yogurt with might be a refreshing change of pace. If Shiro can manage thata. If he can manage leaving his house at all. Who in their right mind would respond to the request from a stranger to come to his house and do nothing but wash dishes and help with chores? No one, that’s who.

This is so, so stupid.

Another deep breath. Let’s just say it all works out and Shiro works up the courage to ask someone. How does he make that decision? How does he narrow his selection? Would he care what they look like? Not entirely. But having someone attractive would be nice and if sex ever is on the table--poor choice of words, if sex is ever an option.

Wait…

What does Shiro find sexy? He thought Adam was sexy. He thought for a second or two that the library boy was sexy. What was it about him that Shiro liked so much? His glasses were cute and his messy hairstyle looked really nice to touch. And he was short. If Shiro had to guess he came up to his shoulder. Hm, he likes the idea of having someone smaller than him. Someone to make him feel large. Depression and panic attacks have a way of making Shiro feel like he’s two inches tall. Being reminded that he’s actually an impressive man physicality-wise would do him some good. 

Someone with long hair might be nice, too. Who wears it up in a ponytail or off the side. Shiro’s always found himself staring at men with long hair put it up, exposing their nape when they’re hot or trying to concentrate. Just a small thing that’s always made him bite the inside of his cheek or tighten a fist. 

Them being smaller would help if Shiro ever wanted to hold them. If they held hands, he’d want to feel like he has all of them in his grasp. But not so small that he would fear hurting them in his sometimes clumsy strength. Someone who would be able to help Shiro lift things. Someone who works out, who wouldn’t be too out of place if he wanted a gym partner.

Someone with expressive eyes. An angular face. A good sense of humor with a bite of sarcasm, someone who can take a joke or at least pretend to laugh whenever Shiro made a pun.

…

Someone who liked being grabbed by the hips. Someone whose waist is slender enough that Shiro wouldn’t need a second hand to wrap around them. Someone who is flexible. Someone who tells Shiro when they like something, when they feel good, what they want him to do.

Shiro makes the executive decision that if he's really going to do this, he’s going to close his bedroom door because it’s a little distracting to stay in the mood when there’s a poor baby gazelle getting eaten by hyenas in the background.

Right. Where was he? Oh, right.

It had been a while since Shiro got off. Months, actually. It’s almost impossible for him to get relaxed enough and let his mind wander without getting caught up on something and sparking an anxiety attack. Scrolling through dozens of hot guys that would actually sleep with him, out of obligation or otherwise, is a nice way to kick things off though. 

He shoves his flannel pants and boxer briefs down to mid thigh and watches his cock flop lazily out and onto his hip. Would they help him with this? Having sex takes so much prep and forethought. Would Shio really be able to get someone who would straddle his waist and help him get off? Even better, would they get between his knees and sink their mouth slow over his dick?

Shiro grips himself and slides his hand down once, closing his eyes and imagining it, the wet heat of a mouth, the careful pressure of a tongue running up the underside of his shaft. His head tilts back as he continues the motion and a shallow breath leaves him. Shiro can’t tell if the pulse he feels in his palm is from his dick or his hand but he grips tighter and makes himself hiss.

God, he hasn’t had someone ride him in so long. He wouldn’t be able to last,that much he knows. Watching his partner spread out all around him, moan long and sweet as his cock disappears inside of them. The sight of toned but slender hips working hard for pleasure would take him there in minutes. If that. He’d tell them to fuck themselves on him, use him until they came.

His hand goes faster now that Shiro feels the slick of his precome. His hips buck up, thrusting into the man in his head. ‘His’ hair, that is normally up, is down and swaying every time he smacks down against Shiro’s hips. ‘His’ mouth is open and hands are pressing hard into Shiro’s chest, nails cutting little crescents into Shiro’s skin. ‘He’s’ moaning for more, to be fucked harder.

“Do it yourself, baby…” Shiro groans to no one. No, groans to ‘him’. Whoever he is, he takes Shiro’s cock like he was always meant to. There’s no painful strain but he’s heavenly tight. His insides are perfect, cinching down and dragging Shiro’s orgasm out of him. He’s close already. Shiro’s eyes clamp shut and his hand twists, squeezing harder as he gets closer to the tip like someone is trying to suck him back in for more, hungry and needy to be filled up.

‘He’ is begging to come, tears are in his eyes and his cock is heavy with blood but standing up so beautifully, hard and desperate. Those expressive eyes roll back and ‘he’ screams, shooting out in silky arcs onto Shiro’s chest. Shiro is close behind, shoving his hips up off of his mattress, chasing a scorching, toe-curling orgasm. It hits him like a freight train. Even behind his eyelids, he sees spots and shouts.

In moments, Rocket is scratching at his bedroom door and barking. It pulls Shiro back to reality. His eyes open and his dream man is gone. With a sigh he looks over the mess he’s made. Thankfully, nothing got on his blankets so all he has to do is wash his hand and chest before going to sleep.

“It’s fine, Rocket. Good boy,” he calls out. Still, he hears a more quiet bark and he stands--whoa boy, falls back onto the mattress, okay up we go-- and wipes his hand with a tissue before opening his door. Rocket bolts in and sits at attention by Shiro’s feet. It feels somehow wrong to pet Rocket with come all over him so Shiro cleans up and then rewards Rocket’s immediate attention to Shiro’s what was assumed to be distress with affection.

“Now I know I really can’t sleep with anyone,” he says to Rocket as he goes to turn off all the lights and television. He’s foregone his sleeping pants and pads down the hall in just his underwear. “Because if we make noise, you’ll come running in.” It’s easy to premetively blame Shiro’s inability to have sex on his service dog instead of his laundry list of other much more relevant restrictions.

For now, it’s bedtime. He’ll take another crack at getting a sugar baby some other time.

Three months later…

Now Shiro _ really _ feels like he’s being scolded. His knees are together, his hand is in his lap, he’s ducking his head. The whole nine yards. All that’s missing is a school uniform and a phone call to his parents.

“Don’t make me do it for you, Shiro. Because I will,” Allura all but snarls as she drums her fingers on her closed notebook. “I’ll just pick someone, give him your address and turn my phone off.”

She won’t. It would be against The Hippocratic Oath somewhere. But Shiro isn’t willing to bet on Allura still not doing it. 

“I’ve been looking…” He meekly replies

“Where?” Allura inquires, tone clearly expressing she doesn’t believe a word of it.

“Uh… That one site.” Now he even _ sounds _ like a teenager in the principal's office. 

Allura’s brilliant blue eyes almost disappear behind her razor-sharp squinting. “You know why I’m pushing you. It’s a risk that will only have positive feedback. Brainstorm. You reach out, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Shiro’s been actively trying not to think about that. “I pay for someone to care about me and they end up laughing in my face or worse.”

“Okay. What is _ actually _ the worst that could happen?”

Shiro huffs, knowing that Allura is trying to get him to learn that he can have control over whether or not he lets his anxiety dictate how logic is processed. Sometimes common sense only comes when called. “I don’t get a response to my messages.”

“Exactly. And then you move on and try again until someone says yes. And someone _ will _say yes. You know I am not a cynic, Shiro, but this isn’t a matter of if someone wants to be around you or not. It’s a matter of money. Which you have and they want. If you pay their price, they will accept your offer.”

Allura’s office is quiet as she lets Shiro think.

“Can I show them to you? The ones I pick? I’ll find ones that I think will be good and I’ll show them to you.”

“Don’t pick someone because I like them, Shiro. Pick someone _ you _want. Trust your judgement. It’s good.”

“I know, but I want a choice like this to get a little bit of back up. And I trust you.”

Allura looks like she’s struggling with something. She breathes in through her nose, letting her chest fill with a confident breath. “Alright. I’ll agree to that _ only _ if you make your decision by our next session.”

Shiro rolls his eyes and slumps. To be fair, it has been months since he was given this assignment.

“What happens if I don’t?” There’s too much playfulness in his tone and Allura’s posture stiffens.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m serious, Shiro. Make it happen.”

\--- 

Allura did everything she knew how, pulled every trick in the book. She tried sweet-talking Shiro, bribing him, taking the aloof route. In the end, it was an ultimatum that got the job done and Shiro to look again. How painfully ironic. An ultimatum wasn’t enough to save his last relationship but now it’s enough to start a new one. Does that count as improvement or was Shiro just completely unwilling to work for what he and Adam had? He won’t think about it now. Not anymore. 

Shiro stares at his phone for three days before finally going back to his only adventured sugar baby site. He puts in the same search criteria and is greeted once again with 16 pages of candidates. Where does he start? Is there a way to sort them? Alphabetically by first name. Sure, that makes the most sense.

Aaron. Another Aaron. Adam—absolutely not. Blake. Brian. Casey. All very handsome, all look like they wouldn't be interested in the kind of arrangement Shiro is looking for. He checked sex _ isn’t _ a requirement, right? All of these men have half their clothes off in their profile pictures. Not that Shiro doesn’t appreciate the view, their bodies are just not what he’s interested in. Oh, here we go: Online and phone interactions-only.

Shiro copies the link to profile belonging to a man named Den. Not Dan. Den. And sends it to Allura via email.

**[ Re: Shiro’s Picks**

**Someone you physically meet with, Shiro.**

**\--A.M. ]**

Darn.

It’s the overly flowery, flirtatious ways these men market themselves in their bios that turns Shiro off. Obviously, the kinds of people who are typically on these sites eat that kind of prose up and throw money at anyone who is so eager to please. He can’t fault them for being just this side of self-deprecating. They want someone with a lot of money to feel compelled to take care of them. They have to seem a little pathetic. Unfortunately, Shiro is pathetic enough for two people and then some.

He sighs as he feels motivation for all this drain out of him with every swipe of his thumb.

Shiro gets through the E’s and F’s without anyone sticking out. He keeps scrolling, the headers of new letters come and go.

**[ Re: Shiro’s Picks**

**I can’t believe you’re making me go through an entire alphabet of hot, single men and I can’t pick one. ]**

**[ Re: Shiro’s Picks**

**If you go through a website’s worth of perfectly capable professional companions without picking one, I’m writing all of their names on pieces of paper and picking one at random. **

**And charging you for the time.**

**You can do this, Shiro.**

**\--A.M. ]**

Can he? What letter is next? K.

Kasey. 

“You weren’t my type when your name was spelled with a C, you aren’t my type now,” mutters Shiro.

Keith. Another Keith. _ Another _Keith—

Whoa. Whoa, hang on.

Shiro taps on the third Keith’s profile picture and a bomb goes off in his chest. It makes him gasp like he’s been struck. There’s more pictures on his profile and Shiro eagerly selects through them. Third Keith has a red motorcycle with an inky, abstract lion decal on the side. He’s leaning against hit with his arms crossed on his chest. Fingerless gloves have never made Shiro feel like this before. And his hair. Thick and dark and tied back in a band. Just looking at this picture makes Shiro’s heart thump with a foreign boost of adrenaline. The kind that makes him feel victorious instead of fearful. How fast can Keith go on that bike? What does the engine sound when it hits top speed? Shiro wants to hear it, he wants to see this man flash by him in a blink. Just to do it. Because Shiro knows somehow it’ll be a privilege. Also because Keith looks like a work of art standing by that bike, his crooked smirk a loaded pistol and his eyes an entire round of ammunition.

God, his _ eyes _. So blue they’re purple. Somehow such an impossible color looks completely and effortlessly perfect on Keith.

The next picture is of Keith with an all-black husky that’s way bigger than any husky should be. Right, whoever Shiro picks needs to be okay with dogs. At least not allergic. This time Keith’s got a big toothy grin that shoots right through Shiro’s chest. It doesn’t quite reach Keith’s eyes but that doesn’t make it any less beautiful.

Real people don’t look like this. Keith isn’t _ real _. Except that he is. But he can’t be. He has to be, though. No amount of loneliness would give Shiro enough brain power to imagine someone this gorgeous. Keith is real. So, so real. As real as the feeling that Shiro is having trouble breathing. Wait. That’s not how he should be reacting.

No, he was just fine a second ago…

The ‘email’ icon is right there. All Shiro has to do is press it and the rest will be history. He can talk to Keith, he can set up somewhere for them to meet. Somewhere not very loud, not too crowded. But not too quiet, either. Maybe a park? No, there will be kids who’ll want to pet Rocket. Shiro’s place? No, he’s been over why inviting someone over is a horrible idea. Where would he meet Keith? Where would be safe? Where would be okay?

_You won’t even get that far, _ his anxiety cackles inside his ears. _ Someone like that will take one look at you and realize that no amount of money is worth tolerating the flaming train wreck that you are._

_ No one will ever actually want you. You’re going to be alone until you can get over yourself and be normal again. Like that’ll ever happen. Look at you. Everyone in your life is here because you pay them. Except for your dog. But he’ll die way before you because you’ll run him ragged with your constant, incessant neediness. You’re so selfish. There are so many people in your life and all you do is use them. You’ll use Keith, too. He won’t even get anything out of being around you. You’re too chicken shit to sleep with him as a measly thank you. You think something as easily obtained as _ ** _money_ ** _ will keep someone like that around? You’re so stupid. So, so stupid! _

“Shiro?” Allura is right to sound so concerned. Shiro doesn’t call her without warning unless something is very wrong.

“I can’t. I can’t do this.” He’s hyperventilating.

“Where are you?”

“My house.” He starts pacing and Rocket walks in his way to try and get him to stop. Before he got Rocket, Shiro once paced through a panic attack that didn’t break for hours. The exhaustion from it all almost made him pass out. While Rocket can’t physically keep Shiro from moving, he can do his best to break Shiro’s cycle.

“Breathe in, count to two, breathe out. It’s okay, Shiro.”

He does his best to do as he’s told but he can’t hold in air longer than a second. “This. This-this sugar baby thing. I can’t--”

“Don’t try to talk. Just breathe how I’ve told you and listen to me.”

Allura pauses while she listens to Shiro attempt at more normal breaths.

“I know this isn’t something you thought you’d ever have to do but I promise you this will help. Nothing bad will happen _ to _ you or _ because _ of you. All it takes is a message. Send one message to one man you think would be a good match and then you can turn your phone off--”

“He’s perfect. I found one. The one I want to hire,” Instead of excited, Shiro is terrified. “If it isn’t him I-I-I I don’t know. I don’t know who else. I can’t look at any more, it’s too much.”

“Okay. Alright. That’s great. I’m very proud of you for finding someone out of the many I asked you to go through. I’m sure that wasn’t easy. If you can, message him tonight. If you can’t, we can work through it together the next time we meet. You can stay until he responds, if you like.”

Allura doesn’t have to do that. What if it’s hours before Keith answers? What if he never does?

“Shiro, breathe slower.”

Rocket barks and it stops Shiro’s breathing altogether. Being startled almost always triggers its own separate panic. The silence worries Allura.

“Shiro? Shiro. Answer me.”

Rocket barks again. Shiro’s stopped pacing.

Allura has her personal cell ready to dial 9-1-1.

“What?”

Allura sighs. “There you are. Are you okay?”

“I…”

“Where’s Rocket?”

“...Here.”

“Touch him. He’s trying to help.”

Shiro sets the phone on the floor as he kneels down to give Rocket affection. He can’t focus. Getting his hand on something stationary is helping. Everything around him feels like it’s happening under water.

“Allura?”

“I’m here.”

They’re on the phone? When did that happen?

“Are you alright?”

“I...Yeah. I guess. Am I hurt?”

“I don’t know. Are you?”

Shiro looks down at himself. Two legs, ten toes. No blood.

“I’m okay.”

“Good. That’s good. You had a panic attack.”

Oh. “Oh. That explains a lot.”

“Get some cold water. Sit down to drink it.”

Shiro takes his phone with him to the kitchen immediately and quietly, like a robot after being given a command. He taps the speakerphone button.

“Is it late?” he asks after chugging an entire glass of tap water. He forgot to sit down first.

“It’s only 7.”

“Oh. Did I call you?”

“I’m glad you did.”

“I’m sorry. Did I interrupt something?”

“Not at all. I’m still in my office. My husband is going to meet me with dinner.”

“Oh. Alright.”

There’s a pause as Shiro drinks down a second glass.

“Time to turn in early?” Allura suggests.

On cue, Shiro is overcome with lethargy. His eyelids feel heavy. “Yeah. I’ll hang up now.”

“Good night, Shiro. Email me in the morning.”

He sleeps like the dead, nightly routine goes forgotten. Shiro just climbs into his blankets and is out as soon as his head hits the pillow. The dreamless night is a godsend.

In the morning, Shiro remembers more clearly what happened. Guilt makes him email Allura right away to apologize.

**[ Re: Last Night.**

**It’s alright, Shiro. You worked through it better than the last time you called. Stay home today. Take it easy. I’ll be here.**

**\--A.M. ]**

Shiro double taps the home button on his phone to clear his email app and the second window slides to the front.

It’s Keith’s profile.

Oh, right. 

Deep breath. One more. Last one.

Shiro has gotten out of the habit of being self-assured. Looking at Keith somehow brings him just the right amount of gusto to tap the email address in his bio and start typing. Maybe it’s because Shiro’s mind attaches to the fact that Keith is still ‘here’. Keith was there last night but he was also there in the morning. 

The idea of waking up with Keith, to Keith, for Keith, spurs him on. 

**Subject:**

...

...

..........

Shiro has carried 200 pounds of sandbags through a military-grade obstacle course, in the rain, running off of 2 hours of sleep, half a granola bar and sheer will power. This damn empty subject line will not get the better of him. 

**[ Subject: Someone who would like your help**

**Good morning, Keith.**

**My name is Shiro. I think I need someone to spend time with and talk to. And that’s all.**

**If that’s okay, please let me know.**

**Thank you. ]**

Send. There. He did it.

That wasn’t so bad.

...

Oh, god. He’s going to be sick--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 is heeeere! Now the story can actually begin! This chapter was a lot of fun to write and before I knew it, it was over 2 times the size of the prologue.
> 
> Come find me on twitter! @jaysuoh


	3. Chapter 2: somebody to have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best advice when first meeting someone is “just be yourself”. What do you do if you can’t remember who that is?

_ If you get too worried about what could go wrong, you might miss a chance to do something great. _

Samuel Holt was Shiro’s favorite professor in college. That man had more passion for educating the world’s next generation than Shiro has ever known anyone to be passionate about anything. And he’s met Professor Holt’s son, Matt, who loves making robots so much that he got a tattoo of his first successful prototype on his own arm. Samuel was nothing if not inspirational and it’s thanks to him that Shiro got as far as he did in his studies.

When Shiro told him that he was leaving to serve in the military, he expected his teacher to be disappointed. But Sam surprised Shiro by being proud.

“I will miss you in class, and I know space would have been a wonderful place for a mind like yours but I know you will do great things no matter where you go.”

God. What would Sam Holt think of his star pupil now? The thought goes flying out of Shiro’s head as he retches into his toilet at 9AM. Rocket whines anxiously at his side. Hardly anything comes up so instead of relief, Shiro just feels barbed wire in his throat.

Shiro rights himself, gargles some mouthwash, and makes breakfast in favor of counting the seconds since he messaged Keith. He needs to take his medicine, walk Rocket, get his morning workout done, do his at-home P.T. Shiro doesn’t have the time to sit and wait on a reply that may never come. God, he hopes it does.

After some sturdy whole-grain waffles, freshly popped from the toaster and some pulpy orange juice--a very poor decision post throwing up and a Listerine rinse but Shiro’s grip on routine isn’t so easily loosened-- it’s 9:35 and Shiro refuses to check his phone no matter how much he wants to. 

He’s long since turned off all alerts and notification sounds so that a call or text he isn’t expecting throws him into an attack. As long as he doesn’t check, it’s Schrodinger’s reply. He will save himself the disappointment and low grade shame of eagerly looking to his phone only to see that Keith hasn’t said anything back while also buying himself time to wrap his head around what he’s doing. If he sees that his first email has been answered, Shiro is under obligation to reply somewhat quickly and that is unneeded pressure Shiro would like to avoid. He settles happily in this limbo as he readies himself for some push-ups.

While missing a limb can discourage someone from doing something like working out, Shiro has rediscovered his ingenuity and found new ways to keep in shape. Though, of course, it wasn’t always like this. Crossing the threshold from despising doing anything beneficial for his body because it only reminded Shiro how broken and incomplete he felt, to keeping a level head if he falls from a pull up bar took several aggravating months.

One-armed push ups aren’t as hard as they look. Keeping yourself balanced is most of the battle. The rest is just taking your time. One-armed pull-ups took Shiro a long time to get down without needing a spotter or at least a chair to push off from. Allura was right, as usual, and Rocket’s excited company is a good mood-lifter and motivator. All of Shiro’s leg and ab exercises are relatively the same. There’s just no other arm to pump when he does his sprints on the treadmill and only one hand to put behind his head when he does crunches. In the beginning, that’s what initially made him get over his mental block of working out. He can still run, he can still to squats, sit ups, lunges. Even if he just did those, he’d stay healthy.

He doesn’t keep track of time when he works out. The digital clock hanging above his T.V. doesn’t exist. Shiro stops when he can’t go anymore. Day by day, when he does glance at the time after he’s finished, he notices that he can go for longer and longer. Today, it’s a little over an hour of nonstop exercise until his chin drips sweat onto his chest.

“Walk time?” Shiro suggests to Rocket who has taken to chewing on a milk bone in his bed over yipping whenever Shiro grunts in exertion. Rocket stands straight up and his tail whips back and forth with enough force to shake his back end. Shiro smiles as he passes him to get a towel from the bathroom to wipe down with. On his bed still sits his phone. Like it’ll tell him whether or not Keith has replied, he stares at it. Rocket scratches the front door and it jolts Shiro just enough to re-engage his concentration and grab a hand towel from the linen closet ride outside of his bedroom.

For medical reasons and general omnipresent anxiety, Shiro can’t leave his phone at home. Picking it up and waking the screen feels like some kind of defeat. There are a few banner alerts on his lock screen and his adrenaline spikes in the most mundanely-triggered fight or flight response. Shiro throws his phone in the pocket of his basketball shorts. He couldn’t look at the notifications. What if it was Keith? What if it wasn't?

As Rocket helps in getting his vest on, stepping into it and holding still, Shiro wonders how long he’d wait for a response. All it takes is remembering Keith’s pictures and Shiro absolutely decides that he’d wait weeks. A month. More. Not that Allura would approve. She’d tell him that if there’s no reply by tomorrow that Shiro should send someone else the same message and keep on going ad nauseam.

No, he’d find a way to tell her. It has to be Keith. He wants to take that firecracker smirk on a ride. It has to be Keith. He’ll wait.

Leaving his house has never been easy, probably never will be, only less difficult. Shiro makes it as far as turning the lever before he freezes up.

“Rocket,” Shiro says low, his usual rush of anxiety making his shoes fill with cement. “Get the door.”

Rocket knows that whenever his vest goes on, he’s working. Even on walks. Rocket’s tail wags. Working is just more disciplined play to him and he’s excited. Also, performing a task correctly gets him rewarded. He rushes ahead of Shiro and jumps up to rest his paws on the lever, knocking Shiro’s hand off of it, and then falling back on all fours. He noses the front door open and pats it with his front paw until it’s completely opened.

“Good boy.” And they’re off.

Typically, Rocket’s first walk happens right around seven in the morning but Shiro’s body needed to recover after his panic attack last night so they’re schedule is rather behind. The early morning walks meant there wouldn’t be as many people, as many cars. The trip out of Shiro’s condominium community is quiet enough. The only people he may see are stay-at-home moms with their babies in strollers that he makes sure to smile at when he can.

There’s a vacant field Shiro where usually takes Rocket in the back of his neighborhood. It’s all tall grass, weeds and wildflowers; plenty of scents to explore and space for Rocket to cut loose. It does Shiro’s mood and mind good to watch his friend, who is normally so dedicated to a single objective, have mindless fun. For a while, he struggled with the guilt of having Rocket work so hard every day, like he was robbing a good dog his life of being pampered and spoiled in a luxurious home. But it’s plain to see how much Rocket not only enjoys the work he does but also adores Shiro. Rocket would be bored anywhere else.

As Rocket spots a beetle flying above his head and bounces to catch it, missing it completely, Shiro wonders if Labradors are prone to jealousy. Being a solitary man, Shiro never thought to research that when selecting a service dog. Will Rocket’s attitude change if Shiro finds someone to be with? Will Rocket even like a new person in their home? What if he’s territorial? Shiro reaches for his phone to do some light Googling when--

His heart drops. There’s a familiar numbness in the farthest ends of his fingers and toes that usually precedes a panic attack but it never comes. He’s standing barely on safety’s side of a cliff, the wind rocking him whenever it blows. Shiro is frozen. Rocket’s adorable leaping through the grass is forgotten.

Keith replied. Hours ago. 

He replied 8 minutes after Shiro contacted him. Without thinking, because he can’t right now, Shiro opens Keith’s email. It’s short, but says so much.

**[ Re: Someone who would like your help. **

**Morning. That’s fine. When do you want to meet up? ]**

Just like that. Done. Shiro agonized over this for hours and had a dissociative panic attack. And it’s decided just like that. 

The cherry red motorcycle, the tightly bound ponytail, that galactic gaze; they’re all his now. How long until Keith smiles all pretty for him, how long until Shiro gets to watch Keith’s hands curl around the handles of his bike and yank the throttle back? Is there an added fee for letting Shiro just...stare? Drink in how it seems impossible for someone to be so gorgeous? Opportunities, paths, choices, countless in numbers, all race through Shiro’s head.

What now?

**[ Re: Last night**

**Keith replied to me. ]**

**[ Re: Last night**

**Keith?**

**\--A.M. ]**

Oh, right. Keith’s already left a crater in Shiro’s life, he forgets that to the rest of the world, ‘Keith’ is just a name. It means nothing to anyone else. For some reason, that makes Shiro angry.

**[ The person I messaged yesterday. The one I said was perfect. He replied to me. He said okay and wants to know when we can meet. ]**

Typing it out doesn’t let the reality of it settle in any more.

**[ Oh my goodness! That’s fantastic, Shiro! How are you feeling? **

**\--A.M. ]**

He can only answer truthfully.

**[ I’m terrified. I don’t know what to say ]**

**[ Be honest. Try to remain casual. Everything will be okay. **

**—A.M. ]**

**[ It’s impossible to be honest about my situation while also being casual. Tell me what to say. ]**

**[ You can do this. Deep breaths. I’m here. **

**—A.M ]**

Shiro glances at Rocket, who is frozen with ears perked up, watching him. They should go home. If this goes south, Shiro doesn’t want to have an episode outside. He calls Rocket back and clips his leash back onto the D ring of his work vest. 

Shiro can’t reply and hold Rocket’s leash, so he mulls over what to reply with. It does him basically no good because every time Shiro’s mind gets anywhere productive, he gets caught up on how Keith’s voice might sound or how his shoulders will move when he walks. His mind is a mess already. What will he do when he has to actually speak to him?

This shouldn’t feel like a chess game where’s Shiro’s life is on the line. There’s no doubt that Keith, wherever he is, hasn’t thought twice about this new person in his inbox. To him, it’s business. 

Casual. Be casual. 

...

How does one with a panic disorder triggered by a daily growing list of things act _ casual _?

Shiro’s reply takes a dozen attempts and just as many times of holding the backspace button and starting over before he finally sends;

**[ Re: Someone who would like your help.**

**When are you available? My schedule is pretty open.**

**P.S. I apologize for the late reply. ]**

There. Casual. Not at all projecting how Shiro’s brain is one spark away from catching on fire.

To fill the gap between responses, Shiro fills Rocket’s water bowl and turns on the television to continue his fourth rewatch of Scrubs; one of his more unorthodox coping mechanisms. Hospitals are a nightmare in Shiro’s mind. A comedy with a hospital as its setting has the feeling of being small and your mom beating up the boogeyman in your closet with a beam from her flashlight. It’s fruitless though, Shiro can’t focus on anything. Retaining the familiar plot is impossible.

Finally he caves and just holds his phone only to stare at it. Surprisingly, Keith replies in about 10 minutes again.

**[ I can do tomorrow around lunch time. Get the introduction and guidelines out of the way. You have any experience? Also I prefer texting. Here’s my number. 602-xxx-xxxx ]**

Shiro is going to go ahead and count this as getting a guy’s number. Also, that area code means he’s also in Phoenix which is helpful.

Tomorrow feels kind of soon. Not that Shiro’s in any position to be picky.

Typing in a number and assigning it to a new contact feels...really good. Someone new. Someone Shiro wants to be around. Someone who Shiro already trusts not to hurt him if only because they’re being paid not to.

**[ This is Shiro. We were just emailing. To answer your question, no. I don’t have any experience. ]** In meeting someone through an app, in dating someone brand new, in having a sugar baby, in any of this

Three dots pop up in a little speech bubble. Shiro’s heart leaps into his throat.

**[ Cool. Tomorrow work for you? ]**

Shiro hears himself swallow over the T.V.

**[ Yes. That’s fine. Where? **]

**[ Coffee shop? ]**

Shiro feels ice freeze up his synapses. The chill makes him shiver. People. Too many people. Crowded.

**[ Is a library okay? ]**

The three dots show up but then disappear. There they are. Gone. There. Shiro’s going to throw up again…

**[ Yeah. You pick which one. 1 o’clock? ]**

Shiro sends over the address.

**[ Yes. I will see you there. ]**

Holy crap. He did it. There’s an anxiety attack right in front of him but Shiro is standing firm, as best he can.

**[ How do I spot you when I get there? ]**

_ Dammit _.

**[ I have brown hair. I’ll have my dog with me. ]**

There’s an immediate reply;

**[ They let you bring dogs in?? ]**

Oh. His excitement is really cute. Shiro remembers Keith’s huge husky, but he frowns.

**[ Not usually. I have a service dog. ]**

The three dots don’t show up. Hah.

Shiro puts his phone face down on the cushion next to him on the couch. It’s an actual effort not to lose every bit of hope. He hasn’t had a sip of alcohol since that one Christmas but he could really use some now.

He fights through the last half of an episode of Scrubs before checking his phone.

Keith’s replied. Shiro sighs. Here we go. Let’s get this rejection over with--

**[ Got you. Anything else? ]**

_ Got you. _

Wow. No questions, no suspicion. Just acceptance. Surprises have always been something Shiro’s made profound adjustments to stay away from but Keith is full of them. Shiro doesn’t mind one bit.

**[ I’ll be on the third floor. ]**

**[ Roger that. See you tomorrow. ]**

‘Roger that.’ His heart is doing tumbles.

**[ Re: Last night**

**I’m meeting him tomorrow at one at the library. ]**

**[ How do you feel?**

**\--A.M. ]**

Shiro sits back against his sofa, basking in the reality of how he’s feeling. He feels accomplished, proud. There’s something else. It isn’t scared. Well, it is but it’s more…

**[ Excited. ]**

\---

If not for his sleeping medication, Shiro is convinced he wouldn’t have gotten a wink of sleep that night.

When Shiro wakes up, he immediately looks at the clock and calculates how long until he sees Keith. 6AM; seven hours. Even though that leaves so much time, Shiro feels like it isn’t enough. Everything has to go perfectly otherwise the wrong first impression will undo every fantasy and hopeful thought Shiro’s ever had right in front of him. 

He works out hard and quick, going for rep quantity over quality. Maybe that isn’t the best thing to do first thing but he’s so twitchy and energized that anything else would feel like a torturous waste of time. What if he takes too long and is late? His breakfast is normal, Rocket’s walk is normal--though it’s more of a jog and Rocket whines to be let out into the backyard as soon as they’re home to do his business. Shiro showers twice, brushes his hair (what there is _ to _ be brushed) several times. The only thing Shiro takes careful time with is shaving. Normally he’d glide his electric buzzer over his face once and be done with it but this is different. Today, he’s trying to impress someone. Shiro’s kept the analogy of this being like a first date miles away for his own sake but it’s the only thing he has to compare it to. Except maybe the first day of a new semester but you don’t go to school with one person and your grades don’t drop if you have little bits of red--dotted toilet paper on your chin.

It takes actually smooth skin for Shiro to realize he hasn’t shaved with a proper razor since he was active duty. It would be easy to lie and say it was to cover the tiny scars on his face but really it was a lack of seeing the point in it. Two years ago, seeing this version of himself would just make him angry, bitter. Now, he’s just impressed with how good of a job he’s done without nicking himself.

What time is it? 8:16AM. Less than five hours. Regardless of the fact that Shiro’s drive to the library takes less than 15 minutes and all that’s left of his routine is getting dressed, he rushes. He dries his face off and darts for his closet and realizes that it’s been a very long time since he wore anything that needed to be taken off of a hanger. It’s all been board shorts and a tee from a folded stack in his dresser. A collared shirt would be too much, right? This isn’t a job interview...or is it? If it is, Shiro isn’t the one being interviewed. Right? Yeah. What’s the temperature…

He asks Siri and she politely informs that on this late November day, it’s 66 degrees and the high is 70. Decidedly too warm for anything more than jeans and a tee-shirt but Shiro hasn’t gone out in public without anything long-sleeved since he came back, It was worth sweating in the summer to have a sleeve tucked into the pocket of his shorts to look more normal. People stared otherwise.

The first thing Shiro sees that isn’t a corny graphic tee or a pit-stained white v-neck is an army green--appropriate, he guesses--crew neck shirt and some loose dark-wash jeans. In a moment of boldness he hopes won't be regretted, Shiro pulls back a large lump of clothes on his rack and takes out his old brown leather jacket. It accentuates his shoulders. At least that was he was told when he bought it.

His outfit assembled, his phone charged with a note containing a list of questions at the ready. The time says 8:32.

Looks like he’s walking to the library.

Thankfully, the walk is uneventful. Rocket is trained not to engage in other passing dogs or nearby small animals. Even people walking right up to him and asking for attention don’t get much acknowledgement. As long as Shiro doesn’t let him stop, Rocket stays focused. As the library comes into sight, Shiro thinks to see if the Starbucks inside of the library will make Rocket a puppuccino. 

The library is huge. It shares the same city block as a few different university buildings so it has three incredibly tall floors. The first floor is the public library, the second is all computer labs, and the third is where all of the reference books and resource materials are. It’s all white exterior with enormous windows for as much natural light as you can get without being outside. That one librarian is working today and smiles at Shiro as he passes by the checkout counter to head into Starbucks. Shiro prefers open spaces, places where he can walk by without being noticed. Close quarters make him claustrophobic. As it turns out, the lovely girl behind the counter is more than enthusiastic to give Rocket his cup of whipped cream. 

So far, the day is going fairly well. There;s just a little more time to kill before 1 so Shiro gets a out a few books on astronomy. Entry-level material, really. These textbooks are the kind of material an elective course might call for. They’re still fun to read. Shiro is just about to relax into his seat on the edge of the third floor, a Plexiglas barrier on his left side, with an overhanging view of the front door when he hears a young girl’s voice cry out the words everyone with a service animal dreads;

“Mommy, look at the dog!”

Shiro’s gut is in his shoes. He quickly gives Rocket his ‘here’ command that has him move as close as possible to Shiro. Where he was once laying beside Shiro’s chair, Rocket goes under the small table where Shiro has put his books. Even though he knows it won’t do anything, Shiro still hopes that whoever this child belongs to will see it and stop the girl from approaching. It’s easier to distract Rocket when he isn’t actively performing a task like standing guard against other people while on walks. If Rocket is just laying down, relaxing, and is crowded with affection, he will stop paying attention to Shiro. Not from any lack of training or lapse in Rocket’s obedience, he’s just a dog. Plain and simple. Dogs love attention. Rocket loves people.

So when the girl treads over and crouches to pet Rocket, who loves every second of it, Shiro has effectively been left alone. He looks around for a woman that may be her mother but no one is paying this any mind.

“Uh…” Shiro starts to say, his heart racing. There’s no polite way to tell a small child that they can’t pet a dog in a way that they can understand. God, can this just be over with? Why is there even a child _ here _? The public library with a while wing dedicated to entertaining small children is on the first floor and monitored by staff. Why is there a little girl here?

“Can--” 

“Hey,” a man interrupts, whose shoes thump into Shiro’s view. The voice is nice, not quite gravely but has a roughness to it Shiro can’t put a finger on right now.

Ashy brown eyes flick up to whoever those black combat boots belong to and it’s--

“Keith,” Shiro doesn’t recognize his own voice. It sounds like someone punched all the air out of his lungs and he’s got one word left to say before he passes out.

Keith isn’t looking at Shiro. He’s looking hard at the girl who turns to look up at him. He squats, the dark, tight denim of his jeans stretching the holes in the knees wide. “See what his vest says?” He points loosely. The girl pouts and doesn’t reply.

“Says ‘do not pet’. Okay? Where’s your mom?”

“I don’t know,” the girl huffs, obviously telling a fib. 

“Go find her. Don’t pet this dog anymore, okay?”

She stands up and stomps away and Shiro is left profoundly speechless. Knights in shining armor don’t usually wear band tee crop tops and chunky silver necklaces. But Shiro’s does.

Keith stands and Shiro has no idea where to look. The silhouette Keith’s tight pants advertise has his mouth watering. The faint treasure trail that falls into them nearly makes him cuss. Keith’s skin has no right to be so flawless. Not a freckle, not a scar, not even a weird birthmark. He’s perfect--not that Shiro didn’t already know that, but now it’s in his face.

“Are you Shiro?” Keith asks, looking somewhat surprised.

Shiro stands up quickly, shoving his chair back.. “Yes. I’m Shiro.” His hand swings up for Keith to shake.

He does and Shiro feels his knees start to give up. The fingerless gloves, Keith’s wearing them. His ears are pierced, too. God. Damn. Goddamn. This is the only time Shiro will ever be thankful for a budding anxiety attack because he needs something else to blame his breathlessness on. Keith’s shoulders are broad which makes his slim waist seem even tinier.

Shiro’s hand tenses on Keith’s just once before dropping back to his side. He could absolutely fit his hand around Keith’s waist. No problem.

Once again; _ Goddamn. _

“Keith. But you know that already. Can I sit?” He gestures to the chair on the other side of Shiro’s table.

“Oh!” Shiro remarks, remembering the library around them. “Yes, of course.” He sits down as well and all of a sudden has not a damn clue what to say. All those questions he made sure were ready have been forgotten.

“So,” Keith begins as he takes his black leather backpack off, takes out some folders and puts them down. There aren’t any labels or writing on the front.

“Thank you for that,” Shiro blurts.

Keith blinks, Shiro reels. His eyes are a thousand times more beautiful in person.

“Don’t mention it. I mean,” Keith leans over and spies on Rocket who is positively mystified by this new human. “It really does say right on his vest in, like, four different places not to pet him.” There’s a degree of annoyance in Keith’s tone that turns Shiro to mush. Keith got angry on Shiro’s behalf that Keith stepped in. It’s on Shiro’s behalf that he’s put off by someone not monitoring their child.

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees, almost humming it. “I don’t know what else to do than get another dog to guard this one.”

“Pff. Yeah, no kidding.”

Shiro made him laugh. Right out the gate, Shiro made someone laugh. Made _ Keith _ laugh. His ears feel warm…

“You weren’t waiting long, were you?” Keith adds as he gets out a pen from his back pocket.

_ Only my whole life _.

“Not at all. I just sat down to read when you showed up.”

Keith’s brows arch a bit. God, he’s cute. “Oh, you were?” He lifts and moves his folders to the side. Something crosses his face that Shiro can’t name.

“You like space?” The wonder in Keith’s voice that spears right into Shiro’s chest is debilitating.

“I do,” Shiro tries not to sound sad. He can’t tell how well it works. “I was on course to be an astronaut once upon a time.”

Then, for the first time, Shiro watches Keith glance at his empty coat sleeve. Someone noticing has never made Shiro want to apologize until now. I’m sorry I’m not who you thought I would be… All Shiro does is swallow and keep his hand politely on his knee, gripping down.

Like he knows he’s been caught, Keith looks quickly back to Shiro. “No way. Me, too. Well, it was more of a dream than something I had a chance at. Still. I’ve wanted to go to space ever since I was little.”

You have _ got _ to be kidding. There’s no way this is actually happening. Though Shiro’s never managed to even dream up someone like this. He can’t wrap his head around how this is happening.

Would it ruin everything if he asked Keith to pinch him?

Shiro must be making a face because Keith half laughs through his nose and opens his folders.

“Down to business.”

Oh, yeah. That’s how this is happening. Shiro is paying Keith. That’s the only way this could happen. Thank you, reality, for that gut-wrenching check.

Shiro doesn’t say anything and lets Keith talk, which feels somewhat self-indulgent on account that he swoons every time Keith says ‘uh’ or double clicks his pen.

A piece of paper filled with bullet points is put on top of Shiro’s closed space book. The first line is enough to set the mood:

  * ****I, Keith, have the right to terminate our agreement for any reason, at any time without consent.****

Well then.

The list goes on and it doesn’t take more than four lines to have Shiro understanding this to be a list of rules. Most of them seem like common sense:

  * ****Don’t take me to meet your parents.****
  * **Any changes in amount or frequency of payment must be discussed beforehand.**

Shiro gets to the bottom and there’s a line for him to sign right beside where Keith has already initialed. 

“Any questions?” Keith asks and Shiro’s shoulders bounce in a small fright. 

“No,” he replies honestly. What questions could Shiro have for a set of rules to an arrangement he’s never had before? Keith could have a rule where Shiro has to refer to Keith as ‘Your Majesty’ and he wouldn’t have anything to base it off of. But not for nothing, Shiro would, without question, call Keith ‘Your Majesty’.

“Great. Sign the bottom. Take a picture if you want a copy to keep track.”

Shiro’s never been one to have a photographic memory but for this list of rules for the person right in front of him, he’ll try to grow one. Instead, he takes a picture before also emailing it to himself.

“Is that all?” Shiro doesn’t know if he’s hopeful or not. He’d love to spend the next forever sitting across this table, watching Keith, but his body is still jittery and shaking from that little girl. Sure, Keith came to his rescue but there have been so many times when it’s escalated. The last thing Shiro needs is for Keith to watch him have a panic attack. Preferably ever but especially not during their first meeting.

“No,” Keith says. “Got some things for you to look over.”

Just like that there’s three separate stacks of stapled papers in front of Shiro. He doesn’t even try to figure out what these could be and waits for Keith to explain.

“These are--they’re like packages when you get cable. They’re levels of the stuff I can do for you. You pick one and that’s the package I provide.”

Oh. Where’s the one that says ‘no sex’?

There isn’t one. Oh, boy…

“In your email you said you just wanted someone to talk to. That’s fine but it’s a little vague. These are agreements that I broke down and you can pick whichever one you think is best. The prices per week are up at the top. Take your time.”

Of all things, Shiro didn’t expect Keith to be so professional. Part of him thought Keith would sit down at the table, rest his boots on top of Shiro’s books, spit a toothpick out from in between his teeth and tell Shiro how it’s Keith’s way or the highway. Lots of swearing and maybe a New York accent. Not that Shiro would complain is that were the case. In fact, there’s very little Keith could do that Shiro would complain about.

The first packet starts off with something that almost seems like a BDSM dynamic:

**Party B will provide an allowance and Party A will use it to however Party A wishes. Party A will provide pictures of the things (food, clothing etc.) purchased with Party B’s money. **

**Party B will refer to Party A only by their proper name.**

**Party A is the only party who can instigate sex.**

**Party A will determine the time and place when or if ever the parties meet.**

It goes on like this, giving Keith all control in the arrangement. While that sounds somewhat nice just on the basis of Shiro won’t have to make any decisions, he can’t leave his schedule in the hands of someone who doesn’t know it. Or someone who doesn’t know what it takes for Shiro to leave the house.

Next.

The second contract is similar to the first except that is blatant BDSM involved. Shiro does his best not to throw that one back and instead slides it aside. Keith does another one-exhale chuckle and Shiro’s cheeks heat.

The third has more involvement on Shiro’s part. The title of this ‘package’ is _ The Fake Boyfriend Agreement. _ Well. Yes, actually. That seems perfect. There’s mentions of sex, how protection must always be used, but not a whole lot more. It mostly talks about how Keith will essentially be Shiro’s ‘boyfriend’. Except Shiro has to pay him $400 a week and Keith is still free to have, go on dates with, and sleep with his other clients. Obviously.

There’s some clause about monopolizing Keith’s time for any window of time and that’s just not something Shiro needs to think about and tempt himself with. Plus, it’s very expensive. Rightfully so, may he add.

But there are sections that deal with late-night phone calls, how formal dates can be, how Shiro should introduce Keith should he ever meet Shiro’s friends, what pet names are acceptable so on and so on. It’s very involved, very specific.

There’s pages and pages…

“Hey,” Keith chimes in. Shiro looks up immediately. There’s an interesting look on Keith’s face. He’s smiling but it feels sympathetic.

“I know it’s a lot, especially since you said you’ve never done this before. These are just so I can cover my ass if things go bad and I need to break a contract with you. All these rules are because someone did something I didn’t like, I tried to leave and they said that there was nothing in the agreement so I kinda got screwed over. Just don’t be an asshole. That’s what it boils down to.”

Shiro can’t take how gentle Keith is being with all of this. Where’s the impatience he saw when Keith was talking to the little girl? Why is Keith being so careful?

_ Well, genius, you’re under 50, have one arm and walk around with a service dog. He probably thinks you’re a basket case. _

Not an unfair or entirely inaccurate assessment.

Shiro clears his throat and signs the last page of _ The Fake Boyfriend Agreement. _

Keith looks relieved. At least relaxed. He sinks down into his chair more and grins at Shiro.

God, his smile.

After all of his contracts and rules and folders have been put away, Keith sighs. “Glad that’s outta the way. What’s your dog’s name?”

Shiro’s chest feels sixty pounds lighter. Breathing gets easy and Shiro realizes that he probably wasn’t doing much of it until now.

“Rocket,” Shiro replies and right away, Rocket’s wagging tail makes a steady beat on the carpet.

“Did you name him that?”

“Yeah. His name was Octavius when I got him.” Keith sneers. “Exactly,” Shiro continues. “I wasn’t going to have a puppy named Octavius.”

Why is this going so smoothly? How has this interaction not spiraled inward and combust?

“What do you do?”

Spoke too soon.

Shiro’s smile drops a few degrees and he looks away for a moment. “Nothing, right now.”

Keith’s shoulders droop. When Shiro looks back, Keith looks like he wants to apologize, his mouth in a tight line. Even like this, he’s adorable.

The silence between them starts to buzz in Shiro’s ears. He has to say something, just to get them talking again.

“You’re really pretty.”

...God? I’d like a lightning bolt straight into the cerebellum if it’s not too much trouble.

Keith’s brows arch up. “Oh. Well, thanks. It comes in handy.”

Now they’re back to square one. Shiro can’t help but laugh at himself and rest his forehead in his hand. “Sorry, I’m so bad at this.”

“What, being a sugar daddy?”

Ugh, that term.

“Talking,” Shiro says, deflating.

“We don’t have to talk all the time. Quiet is okay, too. I like the quiet.”

“Oh.” It’s all Shiro can say.

For once, Shiro is relieved money is what’s keeping Keith’s interest because, wow, it sure as hell isn’t his utter lack of a personality or charm.

“You free this weekend?”

Shiro’s hand falls back into his lap and he sits a little straighter. “Huh?”

Keith leans in with his forearms on the table. Shiro smells his cologne and all he wants to do is bury his face in it. “Are you free this weekend? To do something together.”

Honestly, Shiro isn’t sure. He may be. Or he could have one of his five thousand medical appointments.

‘I’ll have to check’ is ready in his mouth when he hears himself say;

“Yeah.”

Shiro expects Keith to lean back, cross his arms and be victorious. Instead, he stays where he is, not pressing further but also not pulling away. His smile stays, Keith’s breath smells like cherries. In years, Shiro hasn’t felt the urge to kiss anyone but it’s all he can think about when the thought of Keith cherry-flavored lips runs screaming circles through his mind. Keith looks like the kind of person who likes a lot of tongue when he kisses. Sloppy, dirty, noisy kisses--

Keith bites his bottom lip and Shiro can only assume it’s because he’s been caught staring at his mouth like some kind of starving animal. A spike of heat slams right into Shiro’s lap and it’s all he can do not to cross his legs. Keith knows he’s gorgeous, knows how to be sexy. It’s dangerous, dangerous knowledge that he flaunts proudly.

“Great,” Keith basically purrs as he stands up, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. The action hikes his crop top up and Shiro gets a glimpse of Keith’s nipple. It’s pierced.

Sweet Jesus.

“I’ll text you,” he adds finally before walking away.

Shiro raises a hand to wave, his soul crawling out of him, onto the floor and after Keith’s hips.

When he speaks, it’s to no one and an entire chest full of air comes out with it.

“Holy crap.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a day late, I know, my apologies! October is going to be a pretty busy month so I don't think I'll be on track until November. I'll still do my best!
> 
> Hope you liked this chapter!
> 
> Find me on twitter @JaySuoh


	4. Chapter 3: easy to say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is such a thing as too many backup plans. Eventually, you just expect failure and when it doesn't come, you think you've still done something wrong.

‘Pessimist’ is a dirty word that Shiro never thought he’d be described as. Yes, his never-ending preparations for the inevitable downfall of his life stemmed from anxiety, but after years of it, Allura had stamped that shameful descriptor onto Shiro’s personality. It makes him get defensive in their session after the library. 

_ You’ve turned into a pessimist. _

“It went well, Shiro.” Allura prides herself on her patience but after hearing the same phrases from the same person month after month, she falls to the frustrations of talking to a brick wall. “ _ Very _ well, by how you describe it”

“It was one meeting where I barely spoke. If we’re gonna see each other again this weekend--”

“You will,” she interjects, making her patient sigh. Sometimes, he doesn’t notice how he creates his own uncertainties. _ If  _ they see each other. Why wouldn’t they? Actually, no. Best not to ask.

“ _ When _ I see him this weekend,” Shiro corrects with emphasis, “What do I talk about that won’t make it feel like  _ this _ ?” He gestures between the two of them.

Allura blinks at him slowly, lips forming a stern line. She looks down at the list she had written earlier.

“Space, dogs, his motorcycle, living in Phoenix, your shared interest in being astronauts. Then there are the generic topics of; what kind of food you like, what genre of movie do you--”

“Allura,” Shiro barks. It's rare that he gets angry at her. So rare, in fact, that Allura blinks in surprise and leans against her armchair.

“Shiro,” she counters, dropping her tone to nearly frigid. It makes her client think twice about how he'd just spoken.

“That’s what you talk about on dates." he says "This isn’t a date.” 

Though, really, those topics aren’t exactly romantic. She's just trying to get Shiro to  _ talk _ , but he psychs himself out of doing the bare minimum because he’s convinced himself that talking to another person is too intimate.

Allura closes her notebook. “Why isn’t it?”

Something darker than anger makes Shiro frown. “Because I’m paying him.”

“But you two agreed, for all intents and purposes, he would be your boyfriend.”

“My boyfriend that I pay.”

“My goodness, Shiro, are we to continue this exchange for the rest of your appointment? For the rest of the time that you’ll be involved with Keith? If he didn't find you at least moderately appealing, he wouldn’t have offered to see you. Now, I hardly know him but I do know  _ men.  _ And  _ men _ do not pursue something they do not want.”

“Keith doesn’t want me.”

The clock ticks, Rocket sighs and grumbles where he lays.

“May I be blunt?” Allura begins.

“Are you allowed to be?”

“As much as I please. Though, I try to ask first.”

Shiro chuckles grimly. “Then I can’t stop you, can I?”

“You have lost an arm, yes. But you are not, by any stretch of the imagination, ugly. You keep yourself incredibly fit, you have a very handsome face, and my receptionist spends more time prettying herself up for when you check in than she does anything else.”

“ _ Romelle? _ ” Shiro clarifies.

“I understand- you know I do -the impact what's happened to you has had on your self image. It’s why I’m here. But, Shiro, you are kind, you are good, you're an incredible, handsome man. Let yourself start to believe that someone is genuinely interested in who you are. Every time you think Keith is only seeing you because of what you’re paying him, remember how he could barely wait to see you again after knowing you for thirty minutes.”

The room gets quiet again. It’s been such a long time since someone paid him a compliment like that and it’s just so easy to get attached to those words, wrap around them like a python and squeeze. He may never feel that way about himself, but the notion that someone else can is such an alarming comfort.

Imagining Keith saying anything like that to him sends a chill down his spine. A good one. Shiro sighs, reminding himself how to breathe.

“I’ll try,” he says weakly.

They move on from Keith and spend the last bit of their session discussing medication, where he struggles and where he’s seen improvements. The topic of improvements brings them right back to Keith. Shiro leaves smiling, promising to make an effort to have a more positive outlook, or at the very least, be less self-destructive.

The next morning, Shiro’s workout is halted by an alert on his phone. It’s a text.

A text from Keith.

**Good morning**

Oh. Uh. What?

**Good morning Keith.**

Immediately, there’s three dots. Keith was looking at his phone, waiting for Shiro’s reply.

**Sleep okay?**

What’s going on? Why is he asking? You’d think Shiro would be alight with happiness and new butterflies in his gut, but getting a random, small talk text from Keith feels a little like the setup for a punchline. He’s cautious. Maybe Keith didn't mean to text  _ him _ .

**Yes I did. ** Being honest and saying ‘no’ would open a line of questioning Keith’s small talk isn’t prepared for.

**That’s good.**

Shiro doesn’t reply, he doesn’t know how. Does he say thank you? Good-bye? Christ, this is hard. 

Nothing happens for a few minutes, no more dots. Shiro sets his phone down gently, like it’ll explode if he’s rough with it. 

Well. That was...weird. He finds himself staring at his phone, probably with an expression not dissimilar to a caveman discovering fire.

Three dots show up again and Shiro holds his breath.

**Looking forward to seeing you.**

He is? ** You are? ** Shiro hits send before the awe-struck, logical part of his brain can stop him.

**Definitely. **

A tiny blast in Shiro’s chest makes him breathe out. What does he say now? The only thing in his head is an ugly amalgamation of half-sentences. None of them are remotely suave.

**Me too. ** Because it’s true. The only thing on his mind recently has been the countdown until he sees Keith again.

**Figure out what you want to do?**

Crap. Was he supposed to plan something? Doesn’t dating etiquette state that the person who does the asking out takes control of scheduling and planning, or is that considered old-fashioned?

Lying and saying yes would only dig him into a deeper hole.

**No, sorry... ^ ^; Was I supposed to?**

**Not necessarily. I figured you’d like to plan rather than be surprised.**

Actually, yes, Shiro would very much prefer that. Keith's thoughtfulness feels like warm pudding around his heart. He swallows thickly. There’s still a couple days until their next meeting. That’s plenty of time if Shiro dedicates an afternoon to experimenting with what he’d be comfortable doing. 

He goes to his kitchen to fix himself a protein shake without taking his eyes off his phone.Something tells him the generic dinner and a movie routine will bore Keith to tears. And really, it would bore him too.. 

A sudden spark of creativity puts a grin on Shiro’s face.

**Salt flats racing?**

Keith’s bike is perfect for it; shaped like a bullet and molded perfectly for Keith’s body to lean down and become one with the frame. He’d be a shooting star let loose on Earth.

It takes a little while for Keith to reply. Shiro thinks he hates the idea and is probably thinking of a polite way to turn it down.

**Closest salt flats are in Cali. I like where your head is tho... I have a place where I usually go to cut loose. Lots of empty roads and flat desert. Only worth going when it hasn’t rained and you kick up an insane amount of dust.**

Shiro’s chest fills with a hot, victorious inhale. He’s in the middle of typing when Keith’s text interrupts him. 

**I’m down. You got a bike?**

**Can’t say that I do. ** But he definitely has the urge to go out right now and get one.

**Wanna watch me then?**

In so, so many ways…

**Would that be weird?**

What would he do besides that? Wait in the car? He groans at himself.

**No way. I like showing off. Finally have someone to do it for.**

Shiro turns his blender on just to snap his brain out of a particular raunchy line of thought. He watches the powder and almond milk mix for about a minute before pouring it into his shaker cup. It's gone in a few gulps.. His protein shakes used to be so thick he’d have to chew them, clumps of powder too stubborn for the blender would burst in his mouth. Adam used to call that barbaric. Maybe he was right, though it did help Shiro bulk up like crazy right before boot camp.

They hadn’t really broken up until Shiro left. Maybe they did? Shiro wasn’t sure then and he's not any more sure now. Best not to think about his ex while he has the hottest thing that’s ever breathed in his phone, waiting for a reply.

**Sounds great. Where should I meet you? Rocket can come, right?**

**Oh yeah. Kosmo comes with every time. He loves it. Tries to run after me sometimes. I’ll make sure we bring them lots of water. Let’s meet up at Dynuts.**

Shiro can't help focusing on ‘Kosmo’. Keith's giant husky is named Kosmo. Kosmo and Rocket. 

Shiro chuckles. What a pair they’d be. Rocket doesn’t have any dog friends, due mainly to the fact that Shiro is terrified of going to a dog park. He’d like to think Rocket would get along with other dogs, especially one as high energy as him. There's no reason that their dogs won't be fast friends. 

And Shiro can watch Keith blast across the desert like he owns it, like it’s his right. He can’t wait.

**Sounds like a plan :) ** Shiro texts back.

Keith replies with a thumbs up emoji. Then a time for them to meet up.

Shiro then sends his own thumbs up. Two of them. Was that too eager? Not that he isn’t.

**[ No Subject**

**Is two thumbs up emojis too desperate?! ]**

**[ Re: No Subject**

**...What?**

**\--A.M ]**

\-----

Shiro is on his toes, jittery without all the nervousness, until Saturday comes. It’s an hour before dawn when his alarm goes off. Immediately, he’s wide awake, although Rocket is slower getting out of his sleepiness. He lets him doze in his doggy bed by the bathroom door while he showers. 

Keith wanted to meet early, which is later than Shiro's usual 6AM start to his morning. The plan is to meet in the parking lot of Dynuts. They'll get on the highway, with Shiro following Keith in his own car. He can't help hoping that Keith will ride there on his bike, so Shiro can have every reason in the world to watch him straddle it for what he prays will be at least an hour. If Kosmo gets his own little sidecar, that’s even better. That’ll be way too cute.

It’s a funny thing, living in the desert. Temperature in the id seventies by noon this time of year, but before the sun comes up, it’s cold enough to see your breath. Shiro dresses warmly and brings a little jacket and some booties for Rocket. He's never taken him to the desert and wants to make sure his buddy is comfortable. Though, with meeting a new friend and seeing a human he already knows, Rocket may be too excited to care about the weather. Keith said he’d bring plenty of water for the dogs, so Shiro packs two baggies of kibble and some treats. 

And a ball. 

And a rope for tug-of-war. 

And a first-aid kit in case Keith wrecks or one of the dogs runs into a cactus.

Is he over-packing?

After a quick walk and a light breakfast, Shiro loads Rocket into his RAV-4. It’s silver with tan cloth interior, roomy and great for the long road trips that he swore he’d take. 

Shiro hasn’t left Phoenix since he moved there.

Anyway. Keith. Bikes. First date?

**Loading up now. See you in 10? ** he texts.

Keith doesn’t reply until Shiro’s pulling out of his complex.

It’s a thumbs-up emoji.

Shiro gets to Dynuts eight minutes later. There’s a blood red pick-up truck waiting for him, with a familiar cherry colored Yamaha strapped down in the bed. Shiro swallows.

Looks like Keith has a thing for red and, suddenly, so does Shiro.

**I’m here.**

As soon as he looks up from his phone, Keith is walking out of the shop with two coffees and a bag already translucent on the bottom from grease. Shiro’s stomach growls and his mouth waters. 

At least one of those reactions is because Keith is wearing the tightest tank Shiro’s ever seen. It’s dark, too, just like everything else he seems to enjoy wearing. He’s in that tank, dark-wash jeans that hug his figure all the way down to the ankles and a jacket that’s tied around his waist. Leather. Who ties a leather jacket around their waist?

Why isn’t he wearing it, either? Keith’s got to be freezing.

Shiro gets out of his car and smiles. Keith’s hair is down, bouncing with his footfalls, looking thick and impossibly soft. The piercing Shiro got a glimpse of last time is made quite obvious under the stretch of thin cotton on Keith’s torso. Oh, Shiro is a weak man and made weaker by every stolen glance at it. Keith isn’t shivering though, maybe he isn’t cold after all.

“Good morning,” Keith says with a knowing grin. “Early ‘nough for ya?” 

He takes a swig from one of the cups and huffs a big cloud of air. It’s cute, just like everything else Keith does.

“I’m used to getting up early,” Shiro dismisses with his own smile.

Disappointment flickers across Keith's face, then followed by pride. As if he’d hoped Shiro would show up looking ragged, so Keith could tease him or gloat. But now he’s impressed that Shiro is no stranger to being bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at the drop of a hat. 

Shiro enjoys watching Keith’s face move. Likes watching all of him move. Especially when his hip pops to one side after he shifts his weight.

A cup is suddenly offered to him and Shiro does his best not to recoil. Watching Keith walk closer, get into his space, makes him jumpy. 

“Coffee? Didn’t know how you liked it so I just did cream and sugar.”

“Oh.” 

Shiro blinks at the cup, confused and maybe a bit concerned. Isn’t he, the sugar daddy, supposed to buy things for Keith, the sugar baby? (And speaking of, he wants to ask if his first payment went through, just not when he's this keyed up.)

“Thank you,” he says instead, “Cream and sugar’s fine. Appreciate it.”

“I also got donuts,” Keith announces, holding up the bag. “Figured we could use a little breakfast.”

“I already ate,” Shiro replies after taking a hesitant, scalding sip of his coffee. 

He hasn’t had anything caffeinated in a while. Allura said to avoid things that could aggravate his anxiety but he wasn’t about to refuse a gift from Keith. It’s good, strong and a little on the bitter side, but good. He feels a bit guilty not taking a donut, but he’s already got to drive and now drink coffee with one hand. Throwing food in the equation would be one task too many.

Keith shrugs. “Alright. More for me and Kosmo. He’ll inhale these things and probably barf all over the place by the time we get there.” He looks back at his truck and Shiro’s eyes follow. A huge mass of fluff walks from one side of the cabin to the other.

Shiro’s helpless to stop the chuckle that bubbles out of him. “I heard they’re a little hard to handle. Lots of energy and really smart.” 

He has his own little cloud of steam in front of his mouth now, too. The sun should be coming up soon.

“I can relate,” Keith casually offers. “Think that’s why we get along. I like being hard to handle.”

Then he winks and Shiro can’t feel his legs.

It’s quiet until Keith asks; “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shiro sputters, caught off guard.

“Cool. Just follow me, should be there in about thirty minutes. There’s zero traffic right now.”

“After you.”

Shiro watches Keith walk all the way back to his truck. The fall of his jacket covers his ass, which is a shame, but instead he gets a lovely view of Keith’s shoulders and waist. Shiro takes a long sip from his coffee, burns the tar out of his mouth and then gets into his car. 

God, he hasn’t wanted someone like this in...maybe ever? It’s dizzying. It’s humbling. It kind of makes him want to go to church. 

The drive is quiet, which Shiro appreciates. The caffeine starts to get to him and with every exit and turn down a side road, he gets more and more antsy. He turns his radio off and rolls the back windows down so Rocket can stick his head out, now that they aren’t doing 70. This is the first time Rocket’s been this far out of the city, but Shiro has faith that he’s smart enough not to find a rattlesnake and try to play with it. 

They’ve been the only two on the road for miles. The sky is starting to lighten when finally Keith pulls off the road. It’s tricky finding a good spot to park with all the brush and cacti, but as Keith said, this is ‘a spot’ of his. He’s either cleared it out himself or mother nature has made a place just for him. 

Shiro gets out after he sees Keith’s door open. The clearing where they parked isn’t huge, maybe a fifty foot oblong shape. There’s nothing tall or thick growing here, only stout prickly plants and a few tufts of dried up grass. The rest is open. 

Rocket starts yipping and pacing the back seat excitedly. Shiro didn’t put his work harness on for this; there’s no one around and they’re here to have fun. He opens the door and Rocket pours out, nose immediately to the dirt and tail pointing straight up. Then, his head shoots up and his floppy ears perk.

Keith’s let Kosmo out of the truck, and  _ wow _ that is one big husky.

The dogs catch sight of each other and at first, don’t move. Shiro looks up at Keith who’s smiling down at Kosmo. The husky sneezes, then takes two bounding leaps toward Rocket who stomps on the ground with his front paws. Then they’re calm, trotting up to each other, sniffing here and there. Finally, they bow down, tense, rumps in the air and tails wagging slowly.

Kosmo barks and Rocket jumps back to all four paws, runs to Shiro, circles around him and gallops back to Kosmo who spins around in place on the approach.

They break off into chasing each other, tongues already hanging out of their mouths and barking the way children laugh during a game of tag.

Shiro laughs low, eyes following the dogs as Keith walks up to him. He catches sight of him out of his peripheral and his heart thunders. That he kept it together long enough for their conversation at the library to go as well as it did was surprising enough. Shiro assumes, hopes, that this outing will last longer, but he isn’t confident that he won't physically retract every time Keith gets close.

Watching Keith on his motorcycle means observing from a distance, something Shiro is more comfortable doing, yet being near him puts Shiro on edge in seconds. Oh boy.

“I was a little worried about Rocket, but it looks like I worried for nothing.” he says as soon as Keith steps into his space. His sugarbaby is still a good distance away and he hopes, perhaps vainly, that Keith will stop where he is.

He doesn’t.

“Yeah,” Keith acknowledges. He's getting closer. “Kosmo's never met a dog he didn’t immediately wanna play with. They’ll be good and tired later.”

“I brought food for them,” Shiro says, turning to go back to his car. The few paces it puts between him and Keith make is easier to breathe. He pulls out the containers of kibble. “Just in case.”

In seconds, Keith is at his back. There’s a weight he can’t do anything about crushing in around him. Too close. Too close, too close,  _ too close _ \-- 

“You planning on spending the night here?” Keith teases. 

He’s looking in Shiro’s car. No, wait, don’t look. What if he thinks it’s dirty, what if Shiro really  _ did _ pack too much? Where’s Rocket?

“N-No, I just… I wanted to make sure, since we’re all the way out here, that if we needed anything, it would be here.” 

Shiro can’t turn his head to look at Keith, not this close and not with his black cherry and leather smell all over him. It's making him woozy, and not at all in the same way their first meeting did. Shiro wants to climb back into his car, lock the door and watch from there.

Shiro can hear the smile in what Keith says next. 

“You planned ahead. Nothing wrong with that.” 

Then he goes back to his truck to unload his bike. Once there's space between them again, Shiro exhales shakily. He sets up two small food bowls for the dogs by his car.

As he's reaching into the front seat for the rest of his coffee ( it was a gift from Keith and he doesn’t want it to go to waste) he hears Keith swear loudly. 

“Everything okay?” Shiro calls, poking his head up curiously.

Scowling at his motorcycle like he’s scolding it, Keith says; “Yeah, I just grabbed it wrong and fucked up my hand.”

Shiro jogs over to him, doing his best not to jump straight into a panic. “What do you mean? What happened?”

Keith shows him his palm. No blood, but it does look pretty red. 

“I gotta lift up the front end to check something, but my hand slipped.” Keith grumbles. Then, he glances up at Shiro “You didn’t need to run over here, I’m fine.” 

A quick peek up at Keith on the flatbed shows Shiro that he's smiling. There's goosebumps running the length of Shiro's arm, now.

Quickly, Kosmo appears at their sides, also seemingly concerned for Keith. And because Kosmo is there, now so is Rocket. He trots over to Shiro and gives the hand at his side a few kisses.

Shiro takes a deep breath, spurred on by the invigorating sight of Keith kneeling over the side of the bed to give his dog some affection, and steps up to join him. His eyes scope over the bike, gauging the size of it, then his decision is made.

“I can pick it up and you can look at what you need to.”

Keith just laughs and stands. Shiro’s brow furrows.

“No, I can. I’m offering.”

Keith’s smile drops. He looks at his bike, then to Shiro, then back at his bike and holds there. His gaze sweeps back up over Shiro, from feet to face. Shiro thinks he might be blushing. Just a little. 

The nervousness of being close is starting to come back.

“Seriously?” Keith asks, cocking his brow.

Shiro nods once.   
  
“It’s like...three hundred pounds.” Keith says, almost scoffing. 

Shiro turns to the bike, pretending to redo the math he’d already done before saying anything. Three hundred isn’t even close to what he used to squat at the gym. And as much as his crippling self-deprecation would love to deny, he’s still in his prime. Even one-handed, if he uses his legs, this won’t be a problem.

“Yeah,” Shiro says like it’s no big deal. Because it isn’t. Probably.

Keith’s eyes go a little wide. 

“I need to be under there for, like, a while. To make sure everything is good and didn’t get loose on the drive over. Can you…  _ hold it? _ "

A little more difficult, but Shiro shrugs agreeably. “Yeah, I’ll let you know if I need to set it down, but I should be alright.”

He's distracted by how Keith’s mouth is hanging open. A small laugh escapes him, which he can't help. It tickles him to think he's leaving Keith speechless.

Speechless-and-Gorgeous slowly points a thumb back to the cabin of his truck. 

“Lemme just...grab my stuff…” he says, voice weak and higher-pitched.

While he’s doing that, Shiro lifts the front end of the bike, just to get a feel for it. All the weight’s in the middle. When Keith reappears, his cheeks are flushed and his violet eyes are having trouble focusing on one thing at a time. Shiro smiles at him. He’s very easy to read when his flirty front drops.

“Where should I grab it?” 

“Here or here.” Keith points, preparing to lay down for the inspection. He pauses. “You sure?”

Shiro’s smile widens. 

“Yeah. You just have to check on it, right? I can hold it up for that long.”

Keith swallows and Shiro watches his adam’s apple move.

“Alright. Ready when you are.”

This is absolutely not what Shiro thought he’d be doing today. Didn't think he'd be the one showing off, but he widens his stance, crouches, gets his back ready and lifts with his legs. He grunts with the effort of it. He hasn’t done a deadlift this heavy since before his accident, but he hasn’t forgotten his form. Thankfully, he also remembers to breathe. 

He isn't looking forward to having this conversation tomorrow when he has physical therapy. Hunk won’t let him leave without a lecture.

Keith shimmies hurriedly under the bike with his socket wrench and a couple other tools Shiro didn’t get a good look at. He has no idea how long he holds the bike up, just keeps telling himself ‘a little more’ and that gets him through it until Keith is finished.

“Okay, done,” he announces once he’s clear. 

At that, Shiro breathes out slowly and sets the motorcycle back down. His hand stings and there’s some parts of his palm that have been pinched white, but he doesn’t bother to pay more attention to it than that. 

“Everything good?” he asks, once Keith is upright again.

His sugarbaby looks like he’s seen a ghost. Shiro frowns. “Was it broken?”

“Was what?”

Shiro squints. “Your bike. You checked it, right?”

Keith’s face goes up in flames like a gasoline tank. “Oh! Yeah! Yeah, I uh,” he clears his throat, “I had to tighten some stuff but it was all good.”

Shiro smiles, pleased. “Good.”

“Thanks for that,” Keith breathes.

The urge to cup his hand over the side of Keith’s face and just feel how warm his skin gets when he’s flushed distracts Shiro from a response for a few seconds.

“No problem, really.”

Shiro stands back and watches Keith walk his bike down the wooden ramp he brought with him, over to where he’s going to take off. As he puts on his goggles, he calls for his dog. Kosmo comes sprinting over, Rocket right behind him with his tongue lolled completely out of his mouth. Shiro’s never seen his dog so tired silly, it makes him laugh.

The dogs immediately go for their water bowls and drinking down what doesn’t get sloshed onto the dry dirt. Shiro puts Rocket into the back of his car after he refilling their bowls a few more times, windows rolled down. Kosmo seems happy to stay out and sit by Shiro’s feet.

Keith’s a good distance away when he puts his jacket on and starts his bike up. He isn't far enough to miss Shiro’s hungry expression, apparently, because he smirks, flashing sharp canines. Shiro feels tight all over, like his skin is too small, but mostly his pants. Keith’s got his legs spread over the seat of his ruby red chariot and he pulls the throttle back thrice, the first two are short bursts then he lays into the third turn of his wrist. Shiro’s shoulders go up and a breath is caught somewhere in his chest.

Keith gives a two-finger salute and shouts over the loud engine “See ya!”

His heel digs into the ground, he cranks the wheel and does a compact circle before forcing himself bodily back, lifting the front of his bike up and shooting off. There’s nothing but a dust cloud, an excitedly barking pair of dogs and a stunned war veteran in his wake.

For a handful of seconds, Shiro wonders if Keith really did just lift off into space. He was going so fast and the dirt he kicked up wasn’t unlike the smoke left behind by a rocket leaving earth.

The only hint that Keith is still in this atmosphere is the fading sound of his engine interrupted by the gear shifting. It grows louder again and Shiro dons the sunglasses he’s had in his pocket. He’s coming back but from a different direction, a little speck off in the distance slowly growing and taking shape off to Shiro’s left. 

Kosmo starts bouncing on his feet and yipping, and Shiro’s mouth feels so dry, still just hanging open for however long it's been. His heart is pounding so hard that he wouldn’t be surprised at all to return home with a broken rib or three.

It’s like watching a comet right in front of you. Or trying to. Keith’s there and gone so fast, Shiro’s neck twinges from his attempt to keep up with him.

Then Keith pops up onto the road and somehow goes even faster and the only way Shiro can tell is because he hears the brief squeal of a tire.

Before Keith disappears in the distance, he turns and zooms back, this time on his back wheel. He does another pass on his front wheel and while very impressive, Shiro feels his guts leap into his throat. Does Keith really think he has to do anything  _ else _ to impress him? Besides, Shiro’s constitution can’t bear to watch him do anything so risky.

He’s on such a fine line between remaining centered and a panic attack triggered by the sheer amount of spiked endorphins in his blood. The rush of it all makes Shiro feel alive, more so than he has in a very long time.

When he was dormant, as Allura calls it, nothing felt frightening or depressing. The world was grey. Food was grey, the weather was grey. Nothing left an impression and life was one half-numb motion after the next. 

Slowly, he'd found a way to paint his world in muted blues and purples. Allura gave him the paintbrush, Rocket was his paint.

Keith, though... Keith is an explosion of neon, the northern lights cranked up to a thousand, every shade of red and yellow and something else the world doesn’t yet have a name for. He makes Shiro laugh from the giddiness of just being around him. There’s a constant crackling of electricity when Keith gets too close and he'd mistaken it for panic and distress. But it’s all adrenaline. 

He’s out in the middle of nowhere, watching the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen ride his sport bike down an unnamed stretch of asphalt like that’s something to do and he’s having the time of his life.

God, he can do anything right now.

The next time Keith zooms passed, Shiro jumps and whoops. The dogs bark at his outburst. He watches Keith’s head snap back to look over his shoulder and Shiro waves his arm.

This is the feeling he got when he was so close to launching fighter jets that he could feel the ground quaking, and him along with it. That shiver of excitement where your skin prickles and your heart races. It’s why people love to watch racetracks, go to air shows. It’s admiration for watching someone do something you never could and do it with grace. It’s the knowledge that something could go wrong at any moment, but comfort in the fact that nothing will.

When Keith comes back around, he squeezes his brake so hard the back tire springs up and Shiro is ready to leap out and catch him before he smacks into the pavement. But the bike slams back down onto both wheels with a small bounce and Keith slings his goggles off.

His cheeks are red, there’s a deep crevice around his eyes from where the elastic kept the goggles nearly air tight to his face. 

“What?” he pants as he dismounts. His tone sounds concerned.

All Shiro wants to do is scream. And kiss Keith. Kiss him so hard he feels it for days after.

“Keith!”

Shiro’s never heard himself yell that loud. Not this happy, anyway. It echoes in the vastness.

Keith flinches, but offers a confused smirk. “Y-Yeah…?”

“No! I mean--!” Shiro shoves his forelack back. “You’re just! That was incredible! That was amazing!!”

Keith obviously doesn’t know what to say. Has no one ever reacted to him like this? Like he’s a living, breathing supernova?

“You think?” Keith sounds genuinely eager to be praised.

“Yes!”

Maybe it's the heat, or perhaps something Shiro isn't catching onto, but Keith's face is almost completely pink.

“Well...” 

His eyes drift down and Shiro follows his gaze, thinking that maybe he's noticed something on the ground. But when there’s nothing of note except Keith’s foot slowly grinding into the dirt, Shiro smiles and looks back up. His sugarbaby is still flustered, all pink up to his ears.

It’s cute. And pretty. More pretty than cute. Brilliant. Stunning.

“Thanks. I only really show off like that when I race.” Keith shrugs. His leather jacket makes a noise when he does. “It’s kinda cool to do it for one person.”

Kosmo jumps up onto his owner’s front, huge paws hooking over his shoulders easily. Keith laughs and gives his face an aggressive rubbing. And just like that, it’s Shiro just watching again, silent and content.

Then, of course, he has to open his big, dumb mouth.

“Did you get my first payment?”

Keith doesn’t bat an eyelash, but his shoulders slump almost imperceptibly. 

“Yeah, we’re all good.” he says, tone sobered.

The temperature is climbing by the minute now that the sun is fully up.

“Well, that’s all I had planned, really,” Keith says after Kosmo gets down. “Unless you wanted to go for a spin?”

Shiro feels himself pale. 

“No.” Too harsh. “No, thank you.” Better. “I wouldn’t know, uh. I’ve never ridden one and I wouldn’t forgive myself if I crashed it--”

“Shiro.”

“Huh?”

“It’s okay.” Keith chuckles once through his nose. “Just asking. Let’s head back, okay?”

“I-- Yeah.” Shiro smiles faintly. “Want me to lift your bike back onto the truck for you?”

The look on Keith’s face is just too good. “Really?!”

Shiro laughs outright. “No, I’m kidding. I probably couldn’t do that.”

He gets a sneer and a sexy roll of the eyes before Keith walks his bike to his truck.

Rocket lays passed out in the back seat the whole drive home. The radio stays silent,and Keith is so vivid in his mind that he doesn’t actually feel gone yet. Like they haven’t parted ways, like he's right here and all Shiro has to do is look over to his passenger seat and start up a new conversation. 

But he isn't and Shiro goes home with Rocket alone. He carries his dog to the front door until he can’t keep him over his shoulder and unlock the door at the same time. 

It’s not even noon, he has the entire day left. Still, he collapses onto his couch as exhausted as if it were the middle of the night. He’s silent, taking inventory of all the new memories he has; Keith’s laugh, the sound of the bike engine, watching Rocket prance around with another dog, not feeling like the world is caving in on him at any given moment. The high Keith gives him that makes his nerves sing and his skin twitch. How Keith’s eyes blew up the second he got on his bike.

And then, he comes down from the high. Inevitably, his mind takes hold of him and he’s too mentally exhausted to stop it. 

What kind of weirdo likes watching someone ride around on a bike? All Shiro did was check Keith out and basically objectify him, think about how amazing he looked in leather. That very well could have been a date but Shiro made absolutely no moves. In any direction. Despite his disgusting thoughts, Shiro couldn’t bring himself to strike up a single conversation. How is he still a spectator in his own life? This was supposed to be him taking charge for once, grab his loneliness by the throat and chuck it away. 

Instead, he feels even more empty. Before, when he missed intimacy, it was a foggy, subjectless need. Now, it looks like Keith. Lightly tanned skin, sleek hair that he still can’t tell the color of; is it black, or a very dark brown? In the rising sun it had a golden shimmer that looked like glitter. Yearning for intimacy looks like sharp teeth behind peachy lips that would probably feel  _ so damn good _ to kiss. It sounds like a deep laugh and a set of eyes that stare without making Shiro feel paranoid.

He’s such a coward. That was  _ fun.  _ They were having fun together, this was supposed to be a date. They agreed to be ‘boyfriends’ and all Shiro did was gawk and stutter and get so anxious that anything else felt like stepping way too close to a bear trap. 

He should pay Keith for today shouldn’t he? At least enough to cover gas for his truck and bike.

In the memo section attached to the payment, Shiro writes  _ ‘gas money and thank you for today’ _ . Is sixty enough? Just to be safe Shiro sends a hundred. Almost instantly, Keith messages him.

**Gas doesn’t cost that much but thank you ;) I had fun too**

Look at that. It’s so easy for him. It takes Keith less than fifteen seconds to just say something.

Shiro doesn’t reply. There’s nothing else to really say.

Is this what it’s going to be like? Shiro leaves his condo, meets up with Keith, has the time of his life, chickens out at every opportunity to so much as hold Keith’s hand, and comes home to have a mood crash once he’s used up all the dopamine in his brain? Isn’t that how addiction starts? Isn’t this why Shiro’s on four different medications? So that his mood levels out?

Allura mentioned that medication wouldn’t fix him, just make the highs and lows less extreme. But this doesn’t feel like anything’s been fixed.

Keith is doing a better job at making him forget every awful thing he’s ever thought, felt and been through than all the years of therapy combined. That’s not normal, that isn’t a good thing. It will become an obsession, he’ll start to  _ need _ him like a junkie and that’s absolutely not what they agreed on.

Shiro sends Keith more money because that’s all that matters between them and it’s not like he’s good for anything else.

There’s no special note with the amount this time.

**More? What’s up huh?**

Shiro blinks at his phone screen. Just take it. Take all of my money.

He looks to his wall, then to the area rug under his coffee table. And like that, four hours go by.

There’s messages from Keith waiting for him. **  
**

**Shiro?** ****  
**??** **  
** **Hey?**

**What**

**Everything okay?**

Shiro laughs. The way laughter tenses his body makes him motion sick for some reason. His stomach flips.

**No**

Then his phone is ringing and Keith’s picture takes up the entire screen. Shiro winces and squints like someone’s put a flashlight right on him.

He answers but says nothing.

“You there?”

Shiro clenches his jaw and something acidic makes his chest sting. “Yeah.”

Rocket has his head in Shiro’s lap. He doesn’t remember that happening.

“What’s up?” There’s running water in the background. Shiro focuses on that. Dishes?

“What are you doing?”

“Cleaning up after dinner,” Keith sounds so casual. Like it’s easy to just talk.

“Oh.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds before Keith speaks again. 

“Did you eat?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s only five. You hungry?”

“No.”

“I bet you like cooking.”

What…?

“I’m not good at it.” Because he isn’t.

Keith snorts and something comes alive behind Shiro’s ribs.

“What?”

“You’re the first health nut I’ve met that isn’t good at meal prep.”

Shiro feels defensive.

“It’s hard to cook with one arm.”

Then it’s quiet and he realizes what he said.  _ How _ he said it.

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” Keith sounds softer. “I’m sorry. Did something happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you weren’t okay. I’m checking on you, big guy.”

Is that what this is? Isn’t Allura the only one supposed to do that? Speaking of, he should tell her about the...date...thing. And that he apparently just disassociated for over four hours.

“Oh.”

“How 'bout you eat something?”

It doesn’t click what Keith is doing, that he’s trying to pull Shiro back from the edge. Right now, it feels like nagging. 

“I’m not hungry.”

“You didn’t have any of my donuts.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No," Keith clarifies. "I mean you haven’t eaten since you left this morning.”

“Oh.” The next thing out of Shiro’s mouth is surprising to everyone, including him, “What should I eat?”

“How about yogurt? Every health nut has yogurt.”

Because Keith is somehow right, Shiro goes into his fridge and pulls out three cups of it. The phone is set to speaker while it’s on his counter.

“You eating?”

“Yeah,” his voice is garbled around his snack.

“Cool. You have fun today?”

“Mhm.” Because he did. He really did have fun watching Keith which doesn’t and can’t explain why he feels like he’s been run over with a steamroller.

“Good. Me, too.”

“You said so in your text.”

“Yeah, and I wanted to tell you again.”

Shiro tosses the first empty container away and opens his second. He wants to ask what Keith is really doing. Why is he staying on the phone while Shiro opens yogurt with his teeth?

“You must be bored. Nothing going on tonight?” Shiro notes that his tone comes off accusatory.

More dish-washing sounds come through on Keith’s end. “Made sure today was clear just in case you wanted to hang out after but you seemed like you wanted to go home.”

He did? “I did?”

“Yeah. It’s okay. The boys were tired.”

The boys…? Their dogs?

“Keith.”

“What’s up?”

Shiro puts down his spoon with a deciding clink. Rocket, who followed his owner into the kitchen, sits at attention by Shiro’s feet. “What are you doing?”

“You think I don’t know about you?”

Shiro’s stomach drops and he shivers down to his marrow.

“What--”

“You aren’t the first guy like you that I’ve been asked to take care of.”

Shiro doesn’t say anything.

“There aren’t a lot of people who go to sugarbaby sites and ask for company. The ones that do tend to have been through some really messed up stuff and can’t meet people normally.”

“Why are you saying this?”

“Because I don’t want you to think that you’re too much for me or that you’ll scare me off.”

The world clicks back into place. Shiro feels present, he sees his kitchen around him, he tastes the vanilla of his yogurt, he feels the cool tile beneath his feet. Keith centers him back from his mind that’s been floating three feet to the left.

“Keith…” Saying his name helps, too. So he does it again.

“It’s okay, Shiro. Really. You don’t get to be where I am without knowing how to handle certain kinds of people.”

“Messed up ones,” Shiro says through his teeth as he uses them to tear the lid off from his final yogurt cup.

“Ones who have been through a lot,” Keith corrects. It feels like a scolding and Shiro frowns around his spoon. “I’m just letting you know so that whenever stuff like this happens, you can call me.”

“You sound like my therapist.” Now that Keith is supposedly in the know, Shiro doesn’t see much point in hiding anything. Like the fact that he has a therapist.

“After all these years, I’m pretty sure I qualify as one. Seriously, though. It’s included in the boyfriend agreement that you can call me whenever. I’ll do my best to pick up.”

“Keith--”

“You won’t be bothering me. If it makes you feel better, you can pay me afterwards. I just want you to know that I’m here and I won’t be clueless if you ask for help.”

It’s now that Shiro realizes that Keith interrupts people, too. Where it should be rude, Keith cutting him off before he can voice his anxieties is oddly helpful. 

Allura lets him talk and talk, which is her job. She lets Shiro gut himself every three days and then she mops him up and puts him back together. Usually, he leaves a little less of a basket case. Keith isn’t like that. Keith isn’t a therapist so instead of politely waiting for Shiro’s brain to level out, he smacks some duct tape over its mouth and orders it to shut up.

It will feel better to pay Keith if he ever calls him out of the blue. Although, he can’t imagine he’d reach out in the middle of a panic attack. He only trusts Allura with himself in that state. She’s trained, she’s always calm and she knows Shiro the best. It’s a nice thought and even if this new resource is never used, it’s a comfort to know it’s there. Maybe that was Keith’s intention.

“Okay. I’ll call you if I need to.”

“Good!” He sounds a little too delighted. “How do you feel now?”

Shiro gives a hollow chuckle. “Tired.”

“Naps are good.”

“Yeah, they are.”

“Wanna hang up?”

Not really. “Yeah. I’ll text you later.”

“You got it. Talk to ya later, big guy.”

“See you.”

Wow. Someone in Shiro’s call history that isn’t ‘Doctor's Office’, ‘Allura McClain’ or ‘Pharmacy’. That’s probably a healthy change. He makes a mental note to mention this to Allura next time he sees her. See? I’m talking to people. Well,  _ a _ people. A singular people who is amazing and patient, but doesn’t put up with any guff, and whose face crinkles up when he smiles and it’s just so impossibly adorable that it makes Shiro wants to cover his cheeks in kisses.

Not that he will any time soon. But the fact that he wants to is a good thing.

Naps are good. So he decides to take one after feeding Rocket dinner. He flops onto his couch and turns his T.V on to Wheel of Fortune. Good white noise to snooze to.

What is set out to be an easy hour of respite, turns into a full deep sleep.

Shiro’s dream starts simple. They almost always do. It’s rare that he drifts off and is immediately thrown into a flashback. 

He’s back on the road where he'd been with Keith. It’s late, though. He can see his breath and there’s a small sliver of the moon out. Then there’s Keith’s bike suddenly in front of him, engine running and headlights beaming. 

Shiro approaches. The closer he gets to it, the more he watches it transform; dents squeeze into its body, one of the tires pops and goes flat, the headlights are bashed in by an invisible force. Once he’s upon it, the bike is destroyed and its kickstand barely keeps it upright.

On the other side, Keith's body lies on the ground, bloody and mangled. He's contorted, his legs and arms broken. There’s barely any skin on one side of his face. He crashed, and he’s hurt. 

Shiro calls out to him but he can’t hear himself. 

He reaches out and he has both of his arms again. Yes! He can carry Keith to a hospital. But the second he touches him, Keith’s body disintegrates and falls between Shiro’s fingers like rocks and sand. His right arm dissolves in the same way. He cries for help, no one comes. Keith’s bike explodes, sending him flying.

As he slams into the ground, Shiro is awake. His shirt is drenched in sweat and Rocket is on top of him, licking his face. He did his job and woke his owner up.

It’s late, just like in his dream. Pitch black as well. Where’s Keith? He didn’t crash earlier today, right? No. No, Shiro would be at the hospital with him if that had happened. He’d stay with Keith. Keith is home. He should be. He didn’t crash. He didn’t. 

Shiro has to make sure. His phone isn’t anywhere he can reach.

“Ph...Phone,” he tells Rocket. “Get my phone.”

As a service animal, Rocket knows so many commands Shiro’s convinced he’s just one or two words shy of actually being able to understand English. Rocket brings Shiro his cell. It’s been so long since he had a nightmare that didn’t contain a flashback, or had to do with his own injuries. He can’t call Allura. This isn’t an emergency. He isn’t in crisis and this wasn’t a night terror. 

Keith said Shiro could call him if something happened. If he needed to.

Phone. Call history. Keith’s at the top.

It’s been ringing, about to go to voicemail. Shiro feels himself sob without actually crying. What if...what if he’s actually hurt? What if something happened and Shiro’s been  _ home _ when he could be saving hi--

“Shiro?” Keith's voice is strained, sleepy.

“Keith--! Where are you?”

“Mm… I’m home… What’s wrong, you sound upset.”

“You’re okay?”

“I’m fine. I was asleep.”

Asleep. Home. Safe. Dream. Awful dream. Everything’s okay.

Shiro looks across his living room to his clock. It’s almost midnight. Shit. He has to take Rocket out. He didn’t take his nighttime meds. Shit. He woke Keith up for no reason. Shit.

“I’m sorry.” Shiro swallows hard.

“Are you okay?”

“I just...I had a nightmare. It’s not important. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Mhm. I’m okay.”

Then it’s quiet and all Shiro can hear is Keith’s breathing. It’s slowing down. He focuses on that.

“Keith?”

“Mm…”

“...Good night.”

“Mm.”

Then he hangs up and sends Keith fifty dollars.

_ ‘Nightmare is over.’ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter. Is so. So. SO!! late. Thank you guys for your patience and your comments and your kudos and everything, it means the world ;; I'll spare you the sob story and just say that I'll be updating as frequently as I can. I hope the slowly increasing chapter lengths is making up for it a little hfjdsk
> 
> anyway! I want to give a huge shout out to orsaverba for beta'ing this chapter for me and editing the crap out of it. She saved my whole ass. (ily)
> 
> let me know what you guys think! <333
> 
> you can find me on twitter @JaySuoh


	5. Chapter four: get me through it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Where They Kiss

“You did _WHAT_?!”

Shiro winces at the sudden increase of volume right by his ear. He still laughs a little, pushing through the small jolt of anxiety of being startled.

Hunk is a good man, better than most. He’s in the perfect career as a physical therapist even though he always talks about how much he loves cooking. Being a chef might have been too high stress for Hunk’s gentle personality, Shiro has thought.

That gentle personality is taking a vacation right now, though. Hunk immediately stops spotting Shiro’s lateral raises and smacks his hands on his hips. Full-on lecturing dad stance.

“It wasn’t anything I wasn’t sure I could lift,” Shiro defends smoothly as he sets one dumbbell down and unstraps the other specialized weight from his right bicep. 

“That doesn’t matter, you shouldn’t be doing _ body building _ exercises, Shiro! What if you dropped it on him or your hand slipped or-or I don’t know! What if you threw out your back!?”

Shiro’s smile stays. It doesn’t overwhelm him when Hunk gets worried. They’re the closest thing to friends he has in the collection of medical professionals he sees. He doesn’t feel like he’s in trouble like he does with Allura. 

“But I didn’t. I picked up a motorcycle with one arm.” Shiro can’t help but gloat. ‘Not bad for a crippled guy’ he wants to add. 

Hunk still isn’t convinced. His big pouting bottom lip and creased brow tell Shiro he’s thinking hard. 

“Lift up your left arm,” Hunk commands. Shiro complies and the trainer is all over Shiro’s muscles there; squeezing and twisting, poking and prodding. 

“Ow!!” Shiro recoils. 

“Ah-ha! You see? You _ did _ hurt yourself!”

Shiro pauses, looks at his arm, then back at Hunk. “You jammed your finger into my armpit! Is that _ not _ supposed to hurt?” 

Now Hunk takes his pause, clearly caught in forcing to prove his point despite Shiro _ really _ being fine. 

He grumbles. “No… Mmmm—OKAY, YOU’RE FINE!” Then a thick, tan finger comes swinging into Shiro’s face. “But _ don’t do it again.”_

Shiro grins before picking up his weights again. “Yes, sir.”   
  


—-

“So...the date went well,” Shiro finishes. The budding confidence in his tone hopes Allura talks about the desert and not the panic attack he had after. 

“That’s good. I’m very proud of you for handling something so exciting while in an unfamiliar place.”

There’s a ‘but’ coming.

“But…” 

There it is.

“Why did you call Keith instead of me after your nightmare? I’m not angry, it’s only that reaching out to me is what you typically do when in crisis.”

At least this won’t be a lecture. Shiro is silent while he plays with Rocket’s ears and pets his snout. To him, the answer is obvious. 

“I needed to make sure he was okay.”

Where Shiro thinks Allura will take a moment, think of her next question or comment, or simply let Shiro stew in his own thoughts while the second hand of her office clock ticks, she replies immediately. 

“Why is Keith so important to you?”

There’s not a drop of accusation in her voice. It’s a simple, face-value question. It’s her job to screw open Shiro’s skull and look inside but sometimes he can actually feel her splitting his head open. 

It’s invasive but it’s necessary. 

The first answer Shiro has for her is ‘he just is.’ But that’s not good enough. 

Why? There has to be at least one reason. For what feels like the last half of their session, Shiro is quiet. His brain is blank. That’s scary. Normally, he can’t get his thoughts to take a breath let alone stop completely. It’s such a matter of fact; Keith is important. He just is. He’s important because...he’s pretty? No. Well, he is, but that’s not the reason. He’s sweet? Kind of, but not in the typical way. 

Shiro's hands have stopped touching his dog. Instead he’s focusing—if you can call it that. It’s more staring— on Allura’s soft blush, sheer curtains. They let in light but it’s never harsh. The sun is never in Shiro’s eyes. Is it a good thing or bad thing that he doesn’t know where to start?

Instead of trying to sort through a list in his head, Shiro lets loose his flight of ideas;

“He isn’t in the military, he doesn’t even care about it I don’t think. He likes space—no, he _ loves _ it. His dog is named after a celestial body, his favorite color is red—I don’t even know what my favorite color is but his is red. He has this personality that makes you feel lucky to be on his good side. But I don’t feel like I have to walk on eggshells, I trust him to let me know if I say or do something wrong.”

“You trust him,” Allura comments. It’s devoid of any implication or accusation. Just a flat statement.

“I do. I trust him _ a lot _.” Which is really, really unusual. Allura knows it because her silver eyebrows arch.

“Do you want to keep seeing him as your sugar baby?”

The question is phrased in a specific way that Shiro doesn’t catch so he answers quickly; “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s something to look forward to. It’s always going to scare me to leave the house but if I’m leaving to see Keith, it feels so worth it. He makes me feel normal without trying. He’s stared at me a couple times but he hasn’t since our first meeting. He told that girl to leave Rocket alone without causing a scene. He makes my brain shut off. It’s nice.”

When Shiro takes a breath, he realizes he sounds incredibly defensive, like he’s under scrutiny. This was all Allura’s idea and, like all of her other ideas, it’s working out beautifully. Why does Shiro feel like he has to explain himself, justify why he likes spending time with Keith, someone who is paid to be good company?

When he eventually brings himself to look up a Allura, he stills. She’s smiling. It’s soft and motherly, like she just watched him take his first steps. Shiro stays quiet because he has no clue what to do with a look like that.

“Good,” she says finally. Her voice is just as gentle as her smile. “That’s very good. I’m happy for you, Shiro.”

—-

The session ends after Shiro talks about his nightmare and Allura explains what each aspect could represent. Though, it wasn’t anything groundbreaking. Shiro has a lot of anxiety when it comes to losing things he cares about. Nothing new, but it still has him leaving with a heavy sense of not actually making progress.

Yes, he’s done things he hasn’t in years but he still has panic attacks as a result, he still has nightmares, he still spirals in self doubt.

Shiro sighs as he gets to the parking lot and gets to his car. As soon as he and Rocket are settled in, he gets his phone out and texts Keith. They’ve had more to talk about recently. Keith’s sent him pictures of his bike with little upgrades, Shiro reciprocated by sending pictures of Rocket when he was at the vet. 

** Just left therapy.**

** How was it?**

Hm. It was…

** Some of it was helpful, other things felt very repetitive.**

** Glad some of it was good :)**

Shiro never would have pegged Keith to be an emoji-user but it’s definitely cute. No complaints. He gets back home without event and gets to a light workout before dinner time.

Right as he’s finishing, he gets a text from Keith. It’s a picture. A picture Shiro isn’t expecting. Suddenly, his exercise no longer has anything to do with how hot he feels under his skin. Keith sent him a picture of himself in the mirror at a gym. He’s wearing a shirt that barely counts as one; cut out sides and no sleeves. Lower down there’s a pair of loose shorts that seem to be hanging onto his hip bones with willpower alone. Shiro swallows hard only to realize he’s had his mouth hung open. The text that follows is a simple:

** Gym day**

Keith’s got a cocky, knowing smirk that puts a single fold in his cheek. He’s got his hair up in a high and tight ponytail, the little whips at the nape of his neck are stuck there with sweat. His whole body is glistening. 

What in the hell do you say to that? Shiro has just about zero experience in getting selfies like this and even if he did, Keith is unlike anything he’s seen before. Nothing Shiro can think of seems appropriate or is altogether way too _ inappropriate _. Would it be weird to send him money now?

While Shiro opens and closes his banking app, Keith sends another text.

** Speechless?**

Oh. He’s flirting. Shiro can do flirting.

…

Shiro cannot do flirting.

Crap. What would Allura say? Let’s ask.

** Subject: Quick question**

** What do you say to a really attractive gym mirror selfie?**

** Re: Quick question**

** I’m your therapist, Shiro, not your sexting coach. Compliment him.**

** A.M**

Please don’t bring that up next session.

Shiro tries multiple different variations of ‘you look amazing’ before he gives in and cries uncle.

** Yes.**

Keith replies back quickly.

** I figured. You ever been to this gym? It’s really close to where we got donuts.**

There goes some of that heat. Shiro’s shoulders slump.

** No. I do my working out at home or with my physical therapist.**

** Oh yeah that makes sense. I can tell you work out a lot. You got a full length mirror Mr. At Home Gym?**

Uh.

** No but I have mirrors in my bathroom. Why?**

** Return the favor ;)**

O...Oh.

Shiro’s never been one to take good selfies. At least not the kind Keith just sent. Ones with the front-facing camera and a big toothy grin are more in his wheelhouse. He hasn’t really spent a lot of time in front of many mirrors and even if he did, the last thing that would occur to him would be to take a picture of what he saw. But this isn’t for him. It’s for Keith. His ‘boyfriend’ who on some level finds him somewhat attractive.

Shiro goes to his master bathroom where the vanity mirror cuts off just below the waistband of his sweats. He’s just wearing a t-shirt which, now that he’s getting a good look at it, is covered in sweat stains. Gross. He’s got a big clip keeping his forelock back and where Keith managed to gleam with a mist of sweat, Shiro just looks slimy. He doesn’t even let himself dwell on his missing arm. He’ll never convince himself to take a picture if he focuses on that for any length of time.

He switches on his camera and...takes a picture. He’s looking down at his screen, no smile or anything. Though, he does look like he’s thinking really hard. Is that good enough? No, he decides right before deleting it. Keith smiled in his picture. He asked for the favor to be returned. A smiling ‘gym pic’. That’s what Keith gave and that’s what Shiro replies with.

Keith’s reply comes after a good number of little bouncing dots disappearing then reappearing again and a few cycling threats of a small anxiety attack.

** No fucking wonder you lifted my bike up**

That’s not what Shiro thought he’d say.

** What do you mean?**

** You look like you could rip a tree out of the ground and chuck it**

Okay, that gets a little laugh out of him.

** I don’t think I can do that.**

** Yeah but you look like you can and that’s just**

** Wow**

** Really wow**

This is getting dangerously close to feeling stared at. Too much attention on him. He doesn’t like it, even if what he thinks are compliments from Keith is all the feedback he’s getting. It’s too much.

** Can you delete the picture, please?**

Keith’s flurry of ‘wow’s stops dead.

** Did I say something wrong?**

Shiro leaves his bathroom, smacking the light off as he goes. He needs a shower and to maybe grow a spine.

** No. You didn’t.**

Because it’s true. Keith didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing he said was out of line. All he did was react to a picture that Shiro willingly sent. Which Shiro regrets now. He wishes he’d said no, made up some excuse or just said he didn’t want to. But Keith was being sweet and flirting with him and it felt mean to shut him down.

It ended up happening anyway. God.

Keith hasn’t said anything so Shiro apologizes.

** I’m sorry.**

** It’s okay don’t worry about it. Really. I’m sorry if I messed up somewhere**

** You didn’t, Keith. It’s me.**

** Still. Sorry**

** It’s okay.**

Shiro tosses his phone onto the couch with a frown and heads for the shower.

—-

They text more regularly. Keith’s been busy recently so it’s been almost two weeks since they’ve seen each other but they keep in touch every day. Keith still sends pictures of himself doing various things; drinking coffee, laying in grass with Kosmo, slouching on his couch balancing various bowls of junk food all over his torso. Shiro asks if he can save each one and promptly does once he’s given permission.

Daily life continues on. Keith gets a few routine payments from Shiro, the occasional ‘It’s a bad day.’ text that is always proceeded by ‘Let me know if I can do anything’.

Then it’s a Saturday night. Shiro ordered Chinese and has Forged in Fire on the television. Thank God for 24 hour delivery services and late night restaurants. Today wasn’t the best of days so dinner is happening at 10pm. Just as he’s about to bite into his shrimp fried rice, his phone goes off with a text from Keith.

This isn’t uncommon, hearing from Keith so late, but it definitely doesn’t happen all the time. He sets his food down on the coffee table and takes his phone. It’s another picture of Keith, a selfie with lots of harsh neon lighting. He’s outside and wearing what Shiro can guess is dark blue eyeshadow and lipstick to match. Good thing he didn’t have any food in his mouth or he’s sure he’d have choked.

Keith’s annoyed scowl is all prettied up with highlighter. Beneath the picture, it reads:

** My date is twenty minutes late.**

This isn’t the first time Keith’s mentioned his other employers but they’ve never been called a ‘date’ before. The term sets off something small but acidic in Shiro’s gut.

** That’s rude. Have you texted him?**

** Twice. I’m pissed**

** You look very nice.**

There isn’t a response after that. There’s no ‘Seen’ by the message so Keith’s date must have shown up and pulled his attention from his phone. Shiro tries not to focus on how Keith is being treated poorly by someone and how it’s not fair. Then, he tries to focus on how being late for a date doesn’t necessarily constitute treating someone poorly, just never something Shiro could see himself doing. Especially when his date looked the way Keith did.

He’d never considered a man wearing makeup for a night out that wasn’t drag. Shiro’s not sure if it lights the same fire in him as seeing Keith with axle grease on his cheek and a leather jacket around his shoulders but, dammit, Keith looks amazing no matter what he does.

It’s almost midnight when Shiro gets another text from Keith. This time, it’s odd.

** hhey**

** Hello. Are you having fun?**

** You rmeembr when we went to the desert**

The typos… is he drunk? Is he alone and drunk?

** Are you alright?**

** YEah the booze here si rewally good my daddy is payng for it **

Well, Shiro thinks, that’s the least he could do for making you wait outside for twenty minutes.

** You aren’t going to drive home, right?**

** no but listen do you remmerb the desert**

** Yes.**

** remembr how you lifetd up my biek**

** Yes. Are you with someone?**

** that was the sexiets thing ive evr seen anyone do**

…

He’s drunk. Keith is drunk. Shiro takes a deep breath and does what he can not to set his phone on silent and go right to bed. Or worse, reply to Keith and tell him how cruel he’s being. Keith doesn’t know he’s mocking Shiro, or that saying something like that doesn’t register as the playful teasing it’s likely meant to be.

Shiro sighs.

** Drink some water, Keith. Get home safe. If you’re hungover in the morning, let me know.**

** i really thought oyu were gonan kiss me by now no ones goen this long without kissing me**

** We’ve only been on one date...**

** oh my god you;re sucha golden boy never change i love it**

Shiro frowns at his phone. That’s enough.

** Get home safe, Keith. Talk to you in the morning.**

** mmm okay**

** talk to you later stud muffin <3**

\---

The next day, as Shiro is separating dirty clothes to do some laundry, Keith texts him.

** Shit I’m sorry for texting you so late, I hope I didn’t wake you up.**

** I was already up.**

He’s waiting for the apology for what was said, Keith making the excuse that he was drunk and didn’t know what he was saying.

It doesn’t come. Keith doesn’t apologize.

Shiro thinks about that the rest of the day.

\---

** Do you like zoos?**

Keith sent that text about three hours ago and Shiro is still going over it in his mind. Not because he doesn’t know why Keith would ask or because he doesn’t want to answer it’s just… Shiro isn’t sure. He hasn’t been to a zoo since he was a small child and the only reason he knows that is because there are pictures. He doesn’t remember it. His initial reaction is to say no; there are children there and children don’t know to leave Rocket alone. And they stare. They ask their parents why that man doesn’t have an arm. Also, zoos have animals, obviously, but animals have their own scents, their own noises. Rocket could get distracted or overwhelmed. Shiro has no idea how Rocket would react let alone how the whole ordeal will weigh on his own mind.

Finally, he responds.

** Honestly, I’m not sure. It might be too much for Rocket.**

** Hey don’t forget it’s not just you and Rocket anymore. I’ll be there too. I’ll help you out, big guy.**

** Can I think about it?**

** Of course**.

\---

They eventually work out a day to go to the zoo. Only after Shiro has another session with Allura and they go over the logistics of what effect that environment will have on he and Rocket. Naturally, Allura reminded that Rocket loves watching National Geographic. He’s used to all sorts of animal noises and has been specially trained to ignore stimuli. Lots of children trying to get his attention won’t pull him out of his ‘job mind’ as easily as Shiro fears. He will have on his ‘Do not pet’ vest on and most children will be too caught up in the huge elephant or the cute meerkats to even notice Rocket. It’s his job to be helpful in the least disruptive way possible.

Also, she reaffirmed, Keith will be there. Shiro won’t be alone. He has someone in his corner, someone who is not at all afraid to make people back off.

The issues surrounding Rocket, where Shiro’s concerns mostly laid, were dispelled very easily. Which is why most of the remaining discussion was about Shiro.

“You seem to be making every excuse not to go,” Allura calmly said.

“I just...my worst nightmare is something happening and we have to leave because I’m having an episode.”

Allura sighed that ‘I’m getting very close to annoyed’ sigh through her nose.

“Shiro, you have multiple, severe mental illnesses. If something triggers you, it isn’t your fault. You won’t have ruined the date and Keith will understand that. He’s said as much. The way you’ve described him makes me feel strongly that if there was a chance that he would be embarrassed or disappointed by anything you did, he wouldn’t ask to meet with you somewhere so public.”

Damn her for being so good at her job.

\---

Despite everything which includes drafting up several text messages cancelling the plans but not having the bravery to send them, Shiro is waiting at the front gates of the Phoenix Zoo. It’s going to be a fairly warm day so instead of his usual thick coat, Shiro has on a thin flannel, open in the front and a simple tee, jeans and a pair of his nicer walking shoes. He spots Keith as soon as he leaves his truck and starts walking up. Shiro lets go of Rocket’s leash after giving him the command to stay to take out his phone.

** I see you.**

** I see you too. Well I see you because I see Rocket**

** He’s excited. His tail is wagging. He sees you now too.**

That’s when Keith breaks into a light jog. Forget that his sugar daddy is there to see him, but there’s an adorable dog who missed him. They’ve talked about it briefly; as long as Rocket isn’t carrying out a command, Keith is allowed to pet him when he’s working. Mostly because he knows to recognize when it’s appropriate on his own.

“Hey, stud muffin,” Keith says with the thickest amount of flirt in his voice.

Shiro’s ears heat up and he laughs dryly. “Yeah, uh, hey. How are you?”

Keith stands from greeting Rocket. “Excited. You ready?”

In an odd moment of honesty, maybe it’s how Keith has his hair up again that’s distracted Shiro from his usual defensiveness, he says; “I’m trying to convince myself I am.”

Keith stops trying to make heads or tails of the park map he grabbed from the ticket gate and looks up at Shiro. The look has Shiro shifting his attention elsewhere; to the approaching family all wearing matching shirts, then to the large tiger statue in the spacious entrance.

“Hey,” There’s a hand on his shoulder and it jolts Shiro enough that he gasps and turns. Keith retracts the gesture but it isn’t a recoiling. “It’s gonna be fine. Let’s have fun.”

Once inside, Shiro lets Keith take the lead, seeing as he has the map and now a very distinct shine in his eyes. Immediately they’re at the stingray touch tank. There’s a good collection of kids there so they don’t stay long but Rocket sneaks a few curious sniffs in their direction. Keith says they can come back to that on the way out.

The first big exhibit is the savanna enclosure which is more like a fenced in acre of land with animals inside. Keith is also in charge of taking pictures which he does very enthusiastically. There’s a baby giraffe that Keith nearly sprints to get a better view of. Already, this is not going the way Shiro thought it would. He expected a lot more hand-holding, figuratively speaking. He thought Keith would ask Shiro what he wanted to see, what pace he wanted to keep, wonder if he was having fun at any given point.

What he got is watching Keith zoom around with this huge beaming grin, telling Shiro to hurry up or crouch down so he can get a better perspective of the prairie dogs.

What he got is way more fun and a million times more endearing.

On top of it all, Rocket is being great. The children are doing just as Allura had predicted and only giving him passing glances. There are way more exciting things going on than a dog so he’s able to focus and enjoy being around all these new smells.

After the savanna, there’s a smaller section dedicated to the native species to Arizona which didn’t keep Keith’s interest for very long. Except for the mountain lion which Shiro asked specifically for pictures of. The coyotes and Rocket shared a very interesting and hilarious stand-off as they passed.

The fennec fox enclosure held Rocket’s attention the most.

“He probably thinks they’re puppies,” Keith comments with a chuckle.

Up next is the lions. Shiro does his best to keep up with Keith’s stride but he takes off like a bullet. Once Shiro catches up, Keith’s pressed to the glass in quiet admiration. After a moment, Shiro whispers like the huge cats can hear them through the four inch glass; “I don’t see them.”

Keith immediately slides closer which sends Shiro’s heart into his throat and points off in the distance. “There’s two females there laying down and,” he moves his hand “there’s the male on the rock.”

“Oh, wow,” Shiro mutters. “Even from this far away you can tell they’re huge.”

“They’re _ massive _!” Keith corrects with a gesture. Shiro laughs through his nose while Keith goes to the information plaques.

“The females are sisters--oh, there’s three females--and the male is their mate. Apparently he’s pretty old and--Shiro!”

“What?”

Keith turns with his mouth open and jabs at the plaque with his index finger. “The third female just had babies!! They’re gonna be out in the enclosure in a few months!!”

In his entire life, Shiro has never seen someone get so excited over baby lions.

“Aww, that’s cute,” he manages to say through an upswell of secondhand giddiness.

“Oh, my God we have to come back.”

We do?

“Whatever you want,” Shiro hums.

After that, it’s the hyenas, then the rhinos and then the baboons. As they get closer to the otters and Keith’s excitement sparks up again, Shiro takes a second to get Rocket to a water fountain he can hop up on and rehydrate.

“Hey,” Keith coaxes as he approaches Shiro’s right side. He tries not to show how it makes him tense. “You’re having fun, right? You haven’t been saying much.”

Shiro gives him a smile to set him at ease. “I’m having a lot of fun. Mostly from watching you.”

That makes Keith’s cheeks color and it’s damn near the most precious thing he’s seen yet.

“I, uh…” Keith’s hand rubs at the bare nape of his neck, “Yeah. I really like zoos. No one thinks to take their sugar baby to the zoo.”

A pang of guilt affects Shiro’s smile. “Yeah. I’m glad you suggested it.”

Keith shrugs. “You don’t seem like the type to want to go bar-hopping or eat out at some five-star restaurant. Plus, this is the perfect place to take my boyfriend.”

Shiro takes a sharp inhale and doesn’t say anything. Boyfriend. Right. That’s the role Keith is playing. God, Shiro is so bad at this. He has no idea how to treat Keith. The agreement says ‘like a boyfriend’ but every time Shiro considers putting Keith into that category, there’s this enormous cement wall that goes up complete with electrified barbed wire. Keith _ isn’t _ Shiro’s boyfriend. That’s the point. But it feels so nice to think he is, even in a fake way. Too nice. Too nice for Shiro to actually have. Too nice for Shiro to deserve.

How many goddamn times is his brain going to remind him of that?

“All set?” Keith says, bringing Shiro back to the present.

He looks down at Rocket who is excitedly waiting.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

The otters are cute, Keith giggling while they spin underwater is cuter. Rocket bouncing when they notice him and try to figure out why that otter is so huge and on a leash is almost cuter.

Then they round a bend and the huge steeple of the entrance is visible over the trees. There’s still a third of the park left to see but Shiro quickly is losing the energy for it. His eyes stop tracking Keith and start aimlessly focusing on the pebbly asphalt in front of him. He lets Rocket guide him to where Keith is. The ‘Monkey Village’ is nice, Keith comments on how cute their hands are, that it’s so cool how close they are to humans in their DNA. Shiro smiles when he can, hm’s when he can’t.

He wishes he’d been able to be more present for the maned wolf enclosure. They’re very pretty and Keith seemed pretty excited by them. As the minutes tick by, Shiro’s mind is getting more and more distant as his disassociation deepens. It’s very hindsight for him, he doesn’t know he’s disassociating until it’s already started and he wonders how they got from one exhibit to the other.

There’s a reptile house coming up, then the tropical birds and the sloth bear. Keith turns to ask which one Shiro wants to go to first but stops in the middle of a sentence.

“Shiro!” The way he sounds tells Shiro that it wasn’t the first time Keith’s tried to get his attention. But it’s the first time he heard it.

“Huh? What?”

Keith is on him quickly, walking him to the side where there’s a vending machine and an empty picnic bench. They sit down and Shiro feels relief in his feet.

“You okay? You look kinda zoned out. We can leave if you--”

“I’m okay, I think, uh...I think I’m dehydrated.”

Immediately, Keith springs up and darts to the vending machine. He comes back with three bottles of water. Keith opens one and kneels down beside Rocket and starts slowly pouring it into his cupped hand. Rocket laps it up but stops every few seconds to look back at Shiro who is stuck trying to figure out how he’s going to open his water without asking for help.

“Oh, here. Sorry,” Keith says quietly before he cracks the screw cap off.

“Thank you,” Shiro mumbles.

Once Rocket’s bottle is gone, Keith sits across from Shiro again and chugs his own drink.

Shiro sips his a couple times before realizing that he is actually very thirsty. The ice cold water in him helps ground him a bit and like a dimmer switch slowly getting brighter, Shiro falls back into the world. Suddenly, he wants to go see the maned wolf again. He didn’t appreciate it enough the first time.

“You okay?”

Shiro looks up and there’s Keith. Beautiful, concerned, caring, everything someone like Shiro could ever want.

“I just need a minute,” he replies after pulling in a large sigh.

“I’m serious, we can leave now. We’ve pretty much seen everything.”

Shiro shakes his head. “No, really. I think it got to be a little much but resting is helping.”

Finally, Keith smiles a little.

“That’s good. You hungry at all? I can grab us something.”

Shiro perks up to look around. The closest thing is a Dippin’ Dots stand. That’ll work.

He reaches into his back pocket and takes out his wallet, then a $20 bill.

“Here, I’ll have a cup of vanilla dippin dots. You get whatever you want, too.”

“Oh! Yeah, you got it. Be right back.”

And he is. Keith got chocolate.

“I haven’t had these in forever,” he marvels.

“Me either,” agrees Shiro.

“Haven’t been to a zoo in forever either.”

“Me too, again.”

There’s a pause and Shiro listens to the sounds around them. They’re close enough to the birds of paradise that he can hear so many different chirps and calls. This is fun, he decides. Sitting in quiet with Keith. He likes this. He likes how it doesn’t feel awkward or that he’s doing something wrong by not engaging.

With his little ice cream balls nearly melted into a slurry, Shiro drinks what’s left.

“What’s been your favorite animal so far?” he asks, leaning his elbow onto the table.

Keith is still working his spoon into every crevice of his plastic bowl. “Haven’t gotten there yet.”

“Oh, it’s coming up?”

“Uh-huh. New exhibit. Hippos. Those are my favorite animal.”

Shiro blinks and shoots his eyebrows up. _ “Hippos?”_

“Hey,” Keith points at him with his spoon. “Before you say anything, I have a good reason.”

“No, no!” Shiro defends with his hand up. “That’s just not what I expected your favorite animal to be. Or anyone’s, honestly. I’m not making fun of you, though.”

“What did you think my favorite animal was?”

Shiro blows out with puffed up cheeks. “Panther? Wolf? You liked the lions earlier, too.”

“Lions are my second favorite. Sloths are my third.”

“You have a ranking?” Shiro hears the tease in his own voice.

“Yup.” Keith starts counting on his fingers. “Hippos, lions, sloths, wolves and Maine Coon cats.”

Shiro nods approvingly. “Quite the variety.”

“What about you?”

“Uh…” Not having one would be an awful answer to say to someone who has their top five at the ready.

“I think it’s bears. The huge Kodiak ones.”

“Oohh, yeah those are really cool. They don’t have any here, though.”

Shiro shrugs. “Arizona’s too hot for them.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Another pause. This time, Shiro feels awkward.

“You’re having fun, right? Like...this isn’t boring?”

The look Keith gives him nearly sends him on ice.

“I told you I love zoos,” he says sternly.

“No, no, I mean… _ this _. Talking to me. We aren’t really talking about anything.”

Something clicks for Keith, Shiro sees it in how his expression rounds out.

“Shiro, what do you think I normally do on dates with my sugar daddies?”

I try not to think about it, actually.

“Dinner?”

“Sex.”

...Oh.

“Oh.”

“Sex and fancy dinners and black tie benefit parties and swanky hotel rooms.”

For how luxurious and decadent that sounds, the way Keith’s talking about it makes it seem awful.

“I’m arm candy, basically. A dirty little secret that old guys get their jollies off with. I don’t really care but that’s _ all _ it is. It’s impersonal because it has to be but that’s not _ fun _ for me. Well, it is a little if the sex is good but that’s honestly a toss up. I leave those dates exhausted and sticky and a couple grand richer and that’s it.”

Shiro clears his throat. That’s way more detail than he expected. He doesn’t want to think about Keith being used or treated like a prostitute.

“My point is, Shiro, is that no one takes me out like this.”

“To the zoo?”

“In the daytime.”

...Oh.

“No one takes the boyfriend agreement. No one wants to be boyfriends with a sugar baby. I told you I had experience with guys like you and I do. But they were married and stationed away from their families.”

Shiro doesn’t say anything because, really, there’s nothing for him to.

“I know I’m here for work but doing this with you is like turning my brain off where I don’t have to worry about not getting my picture taken with you or your wife randomly walking in. The fact that we can sit on a bench and eat fucking _ dippin dots _ and talk about our favorite animals is--!”

Keith remembers there are small children near by and lowers his voice.

“It’s nice, okay? It’s really, really nice. I’m having a lot of fun because this doesn’t feel like work.”

A siren starts going off in Shiro’s mind.

“Keith--”

“So don’t ask me if I’m bored or if I’m having fun.” He smiles. “Okay, stud muffin?”

The siren stops and Shiro’s laughing.

“Oh, my God that nickname.”

“If you don’t like it, too bad. It’s sticking.”

“Alright, Hippo Boy--”

Keith howls, “_ WHAT?!”_

“Onward to the birds of paradise.”

And so they go. Shiro feels like himself again, even better than before. Keith leads them into the aviary where Rocket is given the command to sit and Keith puts bird seed on his head. Then he gets a great picture of some birds eating it off him.

The reptile house is a nice change of pace; dark and quiet. Indoors and lightly air conditioned.

As they get to the end, Keith is spending less and less time at each glass cage. Hippos are coming up.

Once outside, Keith starts to dart off again on his own but whips around and grabs Shiro’s hand--

The hand that isn’t there. Shiro’s left hand has Rocket. His right sleeve that started out tucked in his pocket has since come loose and Keith grabbed it without thinking.

As soon as he realizes it, Keith stops cold. Rocket is whining at Shiro’s planted feet. It’s so hilarious. He doesn’t have enough of an arm to yank the sleeve away. He’s just staring at Keith gripping onto an empty piece of clothing.

“Oh, my God.” Keith comes back to Shiro almost instantly. “I’m--uh. I’m sorry.”

He still has it. Keith’s still holding onto Shiro’s shirt, holding onto nothing really.

It isn’t his fault. He was excited, wasn’t thinking about it. It’s okay. That isn’t his job to worry about. But he’s _ still hanging on _.

“Keith,” Shiro didn’t realize he was shaking until he tried to talk and he could hear it in his voice.

There’s a phantom pain coming, creeping in from his shoulder and radiating down into a limb that isn’t there. It’s like a migraine when all you can do is endure it. Nothing will take it away, nothing will make it feel better.

“Can you please--”

“No, no wait. Uh…” Keith is acting like he’ll just find a new arm on the ground if he stalls long enough. “Here, look.”

Then something happens Shiro wouldn’t have been able to prepare for even without the panic attack quickly brewing. Keith takes the slack from Shiro’s sleeve, wraps it around his hand and ties it in a simple over and under knot.

“Is this okay? You can say it’s not.”

Shiro can’t activate his brain long enough to form words. He has no idea what he’s feeling.

“It’s just, uh. Well… This way we can hold hands.”

The world starts turning on a completely new axis. A huge pane of glass explodes behind Shiro’s eyes. A semi truck comes to a screeching halt inches from flattening him into the concrete.

“I didn’t want to run off without you and...Shiro?”

“Yeah?”

“You gotta tell me if this is okay.”

A clock ticks. Shiro breathes.

“Yeah.” Yeah? What?

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

It is. It is okay. Shiro hasn’t been able to look away from how Keith is tethered to him now. He’s close, he’s secure. And in that same way, so is Shiro. He’s physically bound to Keith. Because Keith didn’t want to leave him, didn’t want to leave Shiro alone. He wants to be close. He wants to be right here.

Yeah. It’s okay.

It’s okay because it’s Keith. Only because it’s Keith. Because Keith cares. Way, way more than Shiro thought.

Shiro swallows and feels a lot of emotion go down with it. Emotions he needs Allura for. “Hippos?”

The tension that visibly leaves Keith shrinks him down a few inches. “Yeah.”

Keith doesn’t run this time. He keeps pace with Shiro and there’s this smile on his lips that has Shiro completely overwhelmed. It’s content, it’s joy. It’s being happy. Keith looks like he’s in heaven and somewhere, somehow, Shiro is a part of it.

“It’s a stuffed animal,” he says simply.

“Hm?”

“The reason hippos are my favorite animal. I had a stuffed hippo when I was a baby that my parents said I never put down. It became my little comfort thing. Even when I got a little older, that stuffed hippo was my buddy. The first time I saw one in person, I was maybe four years old and I cried because I thought real hippos were the size of my stuffed animal. When they were huge, I got upset because I couldn’t pick them up and hold them.”

Keith laughs and Shiro feels something in him explode. It doesn’t hurt but it’s intense. He wants to kiss him. Bad.

There isn’t any jumping or reading aloud the plaque when they get there. Keith records one of the hippos swim by the glass and, wow, they really are massive. Shiro can only guess how huge they would seem to a four year old boy.

Just like since the beginning, he watches Keith more than the animals he’s paid to see.

And then they’re done. The only thing left is the gift shop. By the time they get there, Shiro’s untied himself from Keith and told him to wait outside. Not for any negative reason but because he wants to get Keith a present and keep it a surprise.

Since the hippo exhibit is the zoo’s newest addition, there’s a lot of souvenirs for it. Including an almost-life-sized stuffed animal. Ignoring the whopping $600 price tag, no reasonable person has room for that in their house.

Shiro settles for a much smaller substitute and a little lion key chain.

Keith is texting when he comes out and his expression is an immediate concern.

“Everything okay?”

“Oh!” Keith startles, shoving his phone into his right pocket. “Just work. What’d you get me?”

Shiro arcs a brow at him. “Who says I got anything for you?”

“You did.” He lowers his voice down several octaves. _ “Stay out here, I want to get you something.”_

“Okay, one: I don’t sound like that--”

_ “I don’t sound like that.”_

“Ha-ha!! Y’know, these can be new chew toys for Rocket…” Shiro warns.

“Okay, okay. May I have them, please?”

“Yes.”

First, he hands Keith the key chain.

“Perfect! This is going on my keys for the bike. Thank you!”

“And then another buddy.”

The stuffed hippo doesn’t make Keith smile like the key chain did. It sobers him completely and Shiro feels his heart get slam-dunked into his shoes. Keith takes it slowly, like he’s afraid of it.

“If-if you don’t like it, I can bring it right back--”

“N-No. Uh...no. No. It’s...I like it. Thank you, Shiro.”

The key chain is hooked around Keith’s pinky finger but the hippo is in both Keith’s hands, held there so gently and locked in a staring competition with Keith. Shiro isn’t sure how exactly, but he messed up. The hippo stuffed animal story was probably very personal and Shiro just picked up another one from some souvenir shop. Maybe it was really insensitive. Dammit.

They get to the parking lot and stop by the curb. Silence.

“Can I walk you to your car?” Shiro offers lamely.

Keith just nods and they start walking.

Silence.

Then.

“Thank you for the hippo, Shiro. I mean it.”

“You do?”

Keith nods, his eyes are so unreadable.

They get to Keith’s red pickup and Shiro has Rocket sit before letting go of the leash. Keith hasn’t looked at him since he gave him the hippo. Shiro’s fist tenses at his side and he swallows hard before reaching for one of Keith’s hands.

“Hey, you okay?”

Keith falls back, his hip thudding against the metal driver’s door. His head does the same, bonking into the glass and he sighs. His eyes are closed now.

“Yeah.”

Shiro’s thumb brushes over Keith’s knuckles. It’s a nice feeling, Keith’s skin under his. Does this count as the first or second time they’ve held hands?

“Y’know--”

“Remember when I drunk texted you?”

Shiro blinks, his hand freezes. “Uh, yeah.”

Keith opens his eyes and looks at Shiro. “Remember when I said how no one’s gone this long without kissing me?”

Shiro feels himself flame. Fight or Flight pumps in his veins. “Yeah…”

“Why haven’t you kissed me?”

He doesn’t like where this conversation is going. The real answer isn’t fun or very dignified. While Shiro silently flounders, Keith presses on.

“You _ do _ want to kiss me, right?”

“Yes--!” That could have sounded 60 times less enthusiastic and still been too desperate.

“Then do it.”

It feels like a challenge, like there should have been a ‘coward’ at the end. And that if Shiro doesn’t, he is one. The whole night after their first date, Shiro kicked and punched himself in the head for not making a move, for not doing anything. Now, he’s being told to. There isn’t any reason to hesitate.

Except…

It’s been so long and, frankly, Shiro has no idea how he should kiss Keith. At least not the first time. A small, sweet peck feels like an insult to who Keith is as a person. Plus, they aren’t fourteen. But anything bigger or deeper than that could get them in trouble. They’re still in a public place, after all. There’s families with small kids around. It’s not like Shiro can just shove his tongue down Keith’s throat. Anything in between requires a form of finesse he’s positive he’s lost somewhere since Adam and this very second.

What will happen if he kisses Keith right now?

What will happen if he doesn’t?

Do it. Do it, do it, do it!

Keith stands back upright and looks down to get his keys. “Text me when you get home, oka--”

It happens quick. Like launching yourself out of bed when you hear the morning reveille. Like sprinting to your car in the pouring rain. There’s so much trust you put in your limbs to be where you need them, for your knees not to buckle under you.

Shiro finds himself praying for the first time in a long while for the world not to end. He knows it will, some day, but not yet. Not while he has Keith’s face in his hand and his chest up against his front. Not while he can still taste chocolate dippin’ dots.

Not while Keith has his hands holding tight to the back of Shiro’s shirt.

Not while their lips are slotted together just so perfectly that it doesn’t feel real.

Shiro thinks he’ll lose his nerve here, but then he changes his angle and goes in again. No tongue, nothing obscene but it’s _ so good. _

Kissing Keith feels obscene, though. Illegal. Like a heist knowing you’ll get away with all your loot.

It feels like being in the desert again, watching Keith try to break the sound barrier.

Keith’s feet shift, Shiro can hear the little rocks grind under his shoes.

When Shiro pulls away, his arm is around Keith’s middle with no recollection of when it got there. And he’s hot all over. Both of them are. Keith’s as flushed in the face as Shiro feels.

For a beat, they don’t say anything and then Keith is up on his toes and they’re kissing again. Shiro must have taken a step forward because Keith is against his truck again and he lets out this noise that makes Shiro wish they were in the middle of nowhere with no one but the stars to spy on them.

The hands that were wrinkling Shiro’s shirt to hell and back are now on his face and neck, keeping him planted tight against Keith. Not that he’d ever dream of complaining.

Keith’s mouth opens more, their chins knock when they switch angles again and now Shiro’s holding onto Keith for dear life. This is getting dangerous and quick. Wave after wave of pent up need accumulated over the past three years is threatening Shiro’s common human decency.

He hears himself let out this deep “Mm…” and then the car beside them honks, jolting them both right out of their skins. Rocket barks but doesn’t get up from where he sits.

A couple is walking up to their car and unlocked it remotely, giving the two of them enough time to right themselves, adjust shirts and adjust themselves inside their pants. Admittedly, Shiro takes more time than Keith.

“Uh,” They say at the same time.

Then they both laugh.

“Text me when you get home,” Keith says again.

“Yeah. Yeah. I will.” If Shiro can remember where he lives.

“Okay… uh… see ya.”

Shiro backs away and over to Rocket. “Yeah. See ya.”

Keith fumbles with his keys until he manages to get his door unlocked and his engine started. Shiro watches him drive off before getting into his own car which is…

Uh…

What car does he drive again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pacing of this chapter feels off and I apologize. I also apologize for how long it took for this chapter to come out. But it was also pretty fun to write!  
Don't worry, you will be getting Keith's perspective on all this at some point. You will learn everything Shiro does not know. > u >  
Let me know what you think!  
As always, you can find me on twitter @JaySuoh

**Author's Note:**

> This one is a day late, I know, my apologies! October is going to be a pretty busy month so I don't think I'll be on track until November. I'll still do my best!
> 
> Hope you liked this chapter!
> 
> Find me on twitter @JaySuoh


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